


A Cupid's Catastrophy

by thinkwinkink



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU, Adrinette, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, In a way, Living Together, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Smut, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-07-28 15:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 74,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16244165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkwinkink/pseuds/thinkwinkink
Summary: Marinette notices a guy acting weird around her neighbourhood on Valentine’s Day. Confronting him may prove to be a mistake when she finds herself inadvertently signing up to be a caretaker for one of the Heavenly Host, a cupid himself, stuck in Paris. Together, they’ll bring romance to the City of Love, hopefully find Adrien a way home, and look good while doing it.(explicit content is signposted and can be skipped)





	1. Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I've already written most of this story, so updates should be pretty regular.

****

Marinette sighed and tossed her short hair in irritation. She looked at her watch again. Sophie was usually running late, but half an hour was pushing it. At least the weather was nice. If one had to be left standing around on a street corner indefinitely with no excuses or responses from their friend, it was a nice day to do it. The air was cool, crisp, and fresh, but thankfully not too cold. And the cloud cover was minimal.

A nice day to people-watch.

She had settled on a low stone fence to wait, alternating between scanning the street for her friend and watching people in the park. People out for a jog, a middle-aged artist with a typical French moustache painting with watercolours, some kids playing and some adults just milling about.

This time, as she let her eyes drift over the park, she noticed a boy with a mop of golden hair walking with hurried purpose across one of the lawns. He was tall with an athletic build, lean and lithe, and moved with a kind of liquid confidence that immediately captured her attention. He was too far away to get a decent look at his face, but if she had had to guess, she would have said he was remarkably handsome. She hoped so – with a strut like that, he was born for the catwalk.

The blond hustled across the grass, crossed the path and stepped up into a garden bed. He leant against a tree, pulled out his phone and started fiddling with it nonchalantly.

Marinette cocked her head, wondering what he was up to.

A minute or so later, a woman of about twenty, with sleek brown hair and an eclectic hipster look, strolled by his tree. As she passed, he leant toward her. The woman blocked Marinette’s view, but he seemed to reach out and poke at the bag she had slung over her shoulder. Suddenly, the strap snapped and the bag’s contents spilled out over the pavement. The woman let out a cry of frustration, before getting down to collect her things.

A man of about the same age in a suit got up from his bench, jogging over and helping to gather the woman’s possessions. Marinette couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could see the man’s white teeth gleaming against his dark complexion, and she would have guessed the woman was blushing.

The man in the suit gestured towards the broken bag, and she nodded. They fiddled with the strap for a while, managing to tie it back to its mooring. The pair spoke a little while longer, before shyly walking away together.

Marinette smiled at the charming meet-cute, before looking for the blond.

He was gone.

+++

“I feel so bad! You know I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, right?” Sophie apologised miserably.

Marinette waved her off. “I told you, it’s fine. Try to be _punctual_ next time, and I’ll overlook it,” she grinned.

Sophie laughed gratefully. “You’re the best, Mari. I promise, I’ll be early,” she swore, but Marinette secretly doubted it.

“So, what did he do, then? You said ‘surprise’ but I’m going to need more than that!” she pressed, changing the subject slightly.

Sophie sighed, a starry look in her eye. She had been in love with one of the waiters at a café on campus since first year, and had been going out with him for nearly a year. Marinette was relieved to no end that Pierre had turned out to be as kind and thoughtful as he was handsome, and was deserving of the first friend she ever made at university.

“I was getting ready to meet you – actually I had a few errands to run before that, but I realised I wasn’t going to have time. I’ll have to do them tomorrow. Anyway, Pierre buzzed and I let him up but I said I was going to go out in fifteen minutes. He said fine and he just wanted to drop something off,” she said dreamily. “So he came up, and he was dragging this big flat box. His Valentine’s Day surprise!”

“What was in the box?” Marinette urged, her latte paused halfway to her mouth.

“Oh my God. I freaked out! It was a huge framed thing of like a million drawings, most of them are pretty rough, and some are charcoal, some graphite, some have a bit of colour. But they’re all of me! From dates and stuff,” she said excitedly, making her friend press her hands to her cheeks and coo. “It was so romantic I literally cried. Oh my God, Marinette, oh my God. He’s so perfect.”

“That is so sweet,” Mari nodded. “I can’t wait until I get to see it.”

“Not tonight,” Sophie laughed, picking up her untouched hot chocolate with an eyebrow raised smugly. “I organised something special for me and Pierre tonight. As much as I love you, you’d be a bit of a mood-killer. Sorry, no offence.”

Marinette nearly choked on her drink, not liking the look in Sophie’s eye. “None taken. I get the feeling I’d really rather stay home,” she replied.

+++

After lunch and a little window shopping with Sophie, Marinette parted ways with her friend, and set out for home. As she walked, she happened to look across the street. And there he was.

The blond from before.

This time, he leant against the side of a chocolatier’s shopfront, just off the street in the mouth of an alley. Again, he was casually playing with his phone. Marinette drew up against the wall of the shop she had been passing, letting other pedestrians by.

He wore fitted navy blue slacks, a white button up, and a slate grey coat with a thickly knitted, blue scarf wrapped languidly around his neck. She swore the last time she saw him, he had been in jeans and knitted black jumper. She supposed he had changed for work.

She stood, watching him, for only a minute or so, before he did something strange again.

This time, he glanced up from his phone, and stuck his foot out into the footpath. A man with earphones and a trendy black suit tripped over the blond’s shoe, and fell straight into the arms of a guy walking the other way.

The men gripped one another tightly, staring into each other’s eyes for a moment too long.

The man in black blushed furiously. He said something apologetically, but the other man waved him off with a grin. They spoke for a moment longer. The catcher reached into his pocket, drawing out a business card and handed it to him. With a flirtatious wink, he walked away.

The one who had fallen stood frozen, staring at the card in his hand. Then he blushed, grinned, and walked away.

The whole scene was cute and so romantic, enough to distract Marinette from the blond. When she looked back at the alley, he was already gone.

As she set off towards the bakery again, she wondered what he was playing at. Making mischief with strangers? Or was he trying to get strangers to flirt, which seemed even more bizarre?

Needless to say, she was intrigued.

+++

Marinette was busy studying design, and working part-time at a retail store on the Champs-Elysees. She worked for _Gabriel_ , one of the premier French designers, and dreamed of working with him on a collection. He was happily married, but had no children, and apparently took on a bit of a fatherly role to young designers he took a particular interest in.

 _That_ was her dream.

In her copious spare time, she also worked in her parents’ bakery. Being Valentine’s Day, the shop was doing a roaring trade. She’d spent the last several days helping to make up orders, and was now behind the counter while her mother helped in the back.

She finished tying a decorative bow around a large white box containing decadent pastries dyed pink and red for the celebration, and handed it to the customer.

“Merci,” the man said cheerily as he accepted the package.

“De rien. Bonne journée,” she said in farewell.

She bent down to put the scissors and ribbon under the counter. As she stood, she was surprised to come face to face with a familiar figure in her next customer.

The suspicious blond boy.

“You!” she blurted out, wide-eyed and unthinking. Aside from the surprise of seeing him again, and in the bakery of all places, she was slightly dumbstruck seeing him up close.

The first real look at his face revealed him to be otherworldly in his good looks. Tanned skin, luminous green eyes that seemed to hypnotise her and draw her in, angular cheekbones and a strong jawline, all topped off by thick, silky-looking blond waves falling nearly to his shoulders. He was more than handsome. The only word that came to mind to describe the man was _angelic_.

“Pardon?” he asked, cocking his head and blinking his wide, emerald eyes.

Marinette shook herself. “Oh, uh, sorry. Nothing,” she said, cringing. “What can I do for you?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and tipped his head the other way. “Have we met? Why do you seem surprised to see me?” he pressed, his voice smooth and trustworthy.

“Oh, um, it’s silly. I just saw you earlier today, and it looked like you randomly tripped someone over on purpose. But I’m sure it wasn’t like that,” she said hurriedly, not wanting to offend a customer.

He laughed bashfully. “Oh, that. Well, I hope you’ll believe me when I say I meant nothing bad by it. And I wasn’t targeting random people,” he assured her.

Marinette believed him. He seemed so basically _good_ that she was convinced he wouldn’t act out of malice.

“Of course,” she said, nodding and giving him a smile to show she accepted his explanation, such as it was. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I need a delivery made,” he said.

Marinette pulled out the pad they used for delivery receipts. “Of course. What do you want sent?” she asked, poised to write.

“Oh, ah, what would you recommend for a 30-year-old woman from a relatively wealthy man who is trying to seek a closer connection?” he said, frowning thoughtfully.

Marinette looked up at him, trying to tell if he was joking, boasting, or just odd. He seemed to be in earnest, so she decided on the latter.

“Well, a lot of people send macarons as personal gifts, and we do Valentine’s sets. They come with raspberry, chocolate, vanilla–” she suggested, but he cut her off excitedly.

“Yes, thank you! That sounds perfect!” he exclaimed, bouncing up on the balls of his feet.

“How many would you like to send?”

“Thirty?” he threw out, with an unconcerned shrug of his broad shoulders.

Marinette balked slightly, but wrote it down nonetheless. He must really be besotted with this woman. She wondered if the man was as young as he looked. He looked about the same age as her, and she wasn’t 22 yet. She was desperately curious, but resolved that she shouldn’t pry into the private lives of a customer.

“Delivery address?” she prompted.

“Apartment 19, 290 rue des atiliers, 18th arrondissement, Paris,” he rattled off in a slightly sing-song voice.

“When do you want it delivered?” she asked.

“As soon as possible,” he replied. She nodded; a popular answer today.

“Message?” she asked, glancing up.

He shook his head. “Make it an anonymous gift. Wait, no, make it say ‘To the future,’ but no name,” he instructed.

She copied down the missive in the box at the bottom of the page. “Okay, and just your name and contact number,” she said, more self-conscious asking for his phone number than she usually was and hating it.

“Adrien,” he said, looking her right in the eye as he did. She gazed up at him, her grip loosening on her pen as she got lost in his eyes.

After a brief eternity, the pen slipped completely from her hand and she jerked out her bizarre trance. She blushed and scrawled his name onto the page. He cleared his throat and recited his number with much less intensity, and she copied it down.

“Alright, that’s yours,” she said, handing him the carbon-copy of the write-up and pegging the original onto the string of orders. “That will be €65.”

If she expected him to gawk at the price of 30 hand-made and hand-delivered macarons, she was disappointed. He handed her exact change, and she placed it in the till.

When she looked up, he had a lopsided smile stretched across his gorgeous features. Her standard farewell stalled before it could leave her mouth.

“Thank you very much for all your help… Marinette,” he said, eyes flicking to her nametag. “I hope we meet again.”

“Bonne journée,” she replied weakly as he strutted out of the bakery.

+++

They closed the bakery later that night, at 7:30 instead of 6, and her parents set off for the evening round of deliveries.

Marinette headed down the street to the supermarket, looking for a few ingredients for a basic spaghetti dinner.

She decided to treat herself to some chocolate ice-cream. She was single on Valentine’s Day, after all, and though she knew better than to feel bad about it, it felt like a nod to tradition. Plus, she liked chocolate ice-cream.

As she swung into the freezer aisle, she came to an abrupt halt. There Adrien stood, deeply pondering the frozen fish.

She clutched her basket of tomato paste and fresh vegetables. She wondered if she should talk to him. She admitted to herself that she wanted to, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet move in his direction.

As she stood rooted to the spot, a girl with bright blue hair, shaven close on one side, and tall platform boots came into view. She walked past the thin guy in a beanie selecting yoghurt and past Adrien. As soon as he was behind her, however, he swung around and deftly lifted something out of her studded leather bag.

Then he happened to look up, and meet Marinette’s shocked eyes,

He lifted a finger, as though to say _wait_ , and winked.

Winked!

She was mystified and scandalised. Adrien seemed so clean-cut and kind, she was utterly gobsmacked that he was a pick-pocket. She wondered if he had stolen anything from the girl in the park or the man in the street whom he had tripped.

With one last steady look at her, Adrien spun to face the skinny yoghurt boy, who was wearing a cute red beanie and thick-framed, black glasses, and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned curiously.

“Excuse me, did you drop this?” he held up the punk girl’s wallet.

“Oh, uh, no,” the guy frowned.

“Maybe it was her,” Adrien mused, gesturing at the punk girl, where she was getting chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs out of one of the freezers.

The beanie boy nodded, and Adrien turned to walk over to her. Before he could take a step, his phone started ringing.

He whipped it out of his pocket and did a double take at the screen.

“I’m sorry, I really have to take this. Can you please give this to that girl with the blue hair? Sorry,” he rushed, practically shoving the wallet into the boy’s hands and striding away. His eager ‘hello?’ was all Marinette heard before he rounded the line of freezers and walked away.

The boy blinked, and timidly approached the girl. She looked up as he came closer, and Marinette could tell he would return the stolen wallet.

She didn’t stay to make sure.

She darted back out of the frozen food aisle, and jogged down the length of the shop, looking for Adrien.

He was striding through the fresh produce, and she ran to catch up.

When she was close, she hissed, “Adrien!”

He turned around to face her with a sunny smile. “Hello, Marinette. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” he said brightly.

“What the Hell!” she reproached in a whisper. He visibly flinched back, his smile wiped off for a moment.

“What?” he asked sulkily.

“Don’t ‘what?’ me! I saw you steal that girl’s wallet! I should report you to the police,” she murmured, fixing him with a glare.

His face brightened. “Oh, that. It’s not stealing if you fully intend to return it immediately,” he said confidently.

“That is _not_ how it works,” she said flatly, arms crossed.

“Yes, it is,” he said, not a trace of concern on his gorgeous face. “Either way, it all worked out for the better, so it doesn’t really matter.” He shrugged, an angelic smile gracing his lips.

“Why did you even do that? What are you playing at?” she asked suspiciously, leaning forward into his personal space and giving him the eye.

He widened his eyes innocently. “Nothing bad,” he said solemnly.

She eyed him as he blinked at her for several seconds, before she gave up and leant back.

“Fine. But I’m watching you,” she warned. Marinette was a sweet and gentle person, but unbending as iron when it came to morals.

“Fine,” he shrugged cheerily.

Marinette lifted her chin and spun back towards the ice-cream selection. She was sure this wouldn’t be the last she heard of Adrien and his bizarre antics.

+++

After dinner, Marinette was upstairs, beavering away at a concept for a costume design unit at university.

“Marinette!” her mother called from downstairs. “One of your friends is here to see you!”

Marinette looked at the clock. Well after nine o’clock. She hadn’t asked anyone over, which meant it was probably Alya.

She looked back at her drawing, torn. She walked over to the trapdoor and stuck her head out.

“Maman, who is it?” she called.

She walked into view, tailed by none other than Adrien, looking deliriously handsome in his third outfit of the day. Skinny black jeans, green t-shirt in a soft, clingy fabric that drew a bit of attention to his physique, black leather jacket with several buckles on it, and a black beanie.

She gaped at him, and he threw her an anxious smile. Her mother was clearly rather taken by him, and was fussing slightly over their guest. Which, incidentally, was quite funny to watch as he towered over her.

“Can I get you anything to drink, Adrien?” she offered.

“Oh, no thank you, I’m fine,” he said gently.

“Alright, let me know if you need anything. Marinette’s right up there,” she smiled. She then turned to Marinette and gave her a significant look that the girl didn’t quite understand, and walked away.

There was a beat of silence, before she sighed noisily.

“You’d better come up here, then,” she said, throwing the trapdoor wide and standing aside. Adrien bounded up the stairs and closed it behind him.

She wondered if she should be intimidated by him, a stranger who had turned up uninvited and marched into her room to loom over her, but she couldn’t find it in her. Despite all the weirdness surrounding him, she felt like she had never met a more trustworthy person in her life. She felt that she could place her life in his hands, and had no doubt he wouldn’t fail to protect it.

“I’m so sorry for barging in like this, but I didn’t know what else to do,” he said nervously. Now that she looked closer, she noticed he looked slightly haggard.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, brow creasing. He always seemed to be smiling, even when she was questioning him, but he wasn’t smiling now.

He tugged his hat off his long locks roughly, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He stalked across the room, back and forth. He was clearly very agitated, so she sat down and put a few more lines on the drawing she had been working on before, waiting for him to calm down. Out of the corner of her eye, she admired his long legs as he walked.

After a few circuits of the room, he folded himself cross-legged onto the floor. He took a few deep breaths, and forcibly relaxed his shoulders.

“I did something stupid, and got myself into trouble,” he started, looking at her calmly.

“Is this legal trouble?” she cut in.

He laughed. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. More… logistical,” he clarified. Slightly.

“Okay…”

“I sense a great strength and kindness in you, Marinette. It’s true that I don’t know many people here, but when I needed help, I knew straight away that I should turn to you,” he said earnestly, holding her gaze.

“Of course, I’ll help if I can,” she said resolutely, but her voice was made soft by the gentle yet fierce look in his eye when he said it.

“Do you want the short version, or all the gory details?” he asked.

“The full story,” she replied without hesitation.

“I’m not supposed to reveal myself without a good reason. Can you keep a secret, Marinette?” he asked ominously.

“Yes,” she promised, settling into her chair for his story.


	2. Storyteller

“Do you believe in Heaven?” Adrien asked, apparently randomly.

“Uh, I don’t know. I guess it’s possible. I hope it exists,” Marinette said, confused by the non sequitur.

“How about angels?” he asked, with the hint of a smug smile.

“I always wondered if what people claimed were divine apparitions were aliens,” she threw out.

He laughed heartily. “Heaven is real, and so are angels, though I’m sure neither are exactly what you picture when you think of them,” he said more seriously.

“Okay,” she said slowly, dubious.

“Heaven obviously isn’t just a vertical flight from Earth. It takes a lot more energy than physical movement to get there,” he explained. “Heaven exists in a way that you can’t really understand from this side of things, but it’s sort of like it’s made entirely of energy. So, it’s not easy to get there from here, unless you’re getting help from the other side. Still with me?”

She nodded slowly. What he said made sense in his limited context, but was hard to accept. As long as she was able to treat this explanation as a hypothetical, she could process it. Once she was faced with dealing with Adrien as a probable crazy person, she was up against a harder task.

“There are a whole host of angels. They’re probably pretty different to what you’re imagining, but that’s not the point. There are different kinds of angels with different jobs. Angels of death, comfort, healing, and so on. They all have different specialities and strengths with their miracles, and that’s how you get assigned,” he said, leaning back with his arms resting along the edge of her chaise longue, gesturing loosely with hands. He looked the picture of relaxed conversation. At least talking it out was therapeutic for one of them.

“What kind are you?” she asked cautiously, hoping against hope he didn’t say ‘death.’

“I’m a cupid, obviously. An angel of love,” he said as though he thought she was a bit slow on the uptake. “That’s why I’m here. It’s Valentine’s Day!”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Valentine’s Day isn’t a religious holiday,” she pointed out drily.

He rolled his eyes. “This isn’t about religion. I’ll tell you right now, there isn’t a single religion on Earth with a decent understanding of how all this stuff really works. But what I’m calling Heaven is like a big office with employees who get sent out to clean up messes, keep things on the right track and in balance, and give the world a little nudge towards the better. I do that last one,” he said with an adorable look of pride.

“By stealing wallets?” she chided.

“No,” he pouted. “By helping people meet The One. For a lot of people, being happy and supported by someone who’s a good fit for them not only makes their life better, but drives them to have a more positive impact on the world. Everything from recycling more to getting out of violent crime can come from a little more love.”

“Uh-huh,” she hummed sceptically, but his argument kind of made sense. He looked at her shrewdly, then looked satisfied. She wondered if he could tell she was inclined to accept his point. Could he read her mind?

“We angels get sent over here to help out with problems as they come up, one at a time or in groups, depending on what needs doing. But Valentine’s Day? It’s a free-for-all these days, everyone is so much more receptive to love. Every cupid in the host is sent over for one day,” he said, his face suffused with the glory of the love-surge he was clearly basking in.

“Okay. Are we coming to the ‘trouble’ you’re in soon?” she prompted.

He sighed. “Yes, unfortunately. See, when we come to Earth, it’s pretty easy. We are existing as energy, surrounded by it, and carried by it. On the way back, we’re weighed down by our physical bodies, and have to reach out with our own energy, and find someone reaching out on the other side to pull us back. That means that a particular time and place has to be decided upon in advance, so that both sides are reaching towards each other. That time was at 8 o’clock, exactly,” he said gravely.

“Tonight?”

“Tonight,” he repeated.

“Well, crap,” she said.

They sat in dejected silence for a minute.

“So, what now? How do you get back?” she asked.

“Easier said than done. Pretty soon I’ll be missed, but they can’t just pluck me off the face of the planet. I have to be trying to leave at the exact same time,” he reminded her.

“So?” she urged.

“So, there’s a standard rule. If you miss out on your return flight, as it were, someone will try to bring you back the following Sabbath from a holy place,” he said.

“I thought you weren’t religious. What’s with the ‘holy place’?” she frowned.

“Any temple or church or altar has immense energy poured into it by its devotees. The older the site, the stronger the energy. It’s like a beacon to people on the other side, and it’s something for me to drawn on,” he shrugged. “Besides, Heaven acts through oracles and churches all the time. We go way back.”

“The Sabbath?” she asked.

“Well, I’m really not supposed to go into this, but I will say that there’s extra divine energy in the mix on the Sabbath,” he said vaguely, looking at his fingernails.

“Wait. Christian Sabbath or Jewish Sabbath?” she queried.

He threw his head back and laughed. “You won’t catch me out on that. The Sabbath is…” he sprang to his feet and crossed to the window, “Thursday, at the moment. Like I said, I can’t go into it.”

“So, today’s Monday. What about the next three days?” Marinette asked.

At that, he sighed seriously, and folded himself back onto the floor, right in front of her.

“This is why I’ve come to ask for your help. The thing is, I’m only young. Angels don’t live for eons, each one only exists as long as a human would live. I’ve never been on earth for more than a day, and I have no idea what I’m doing. I have to stay until nightfall on Thursday, and get as strong as possible. That means working as a cupid, but that also means taking care of this human body,” he said, gesturing hopelessly at his broad chest, before perking up slightly with a cheeky grin. “Ever wanted to take care of a six-three child?”

It was crazy, but she felt so strongly that it was the right thing to do. She wasn’t sure she even believed him, but if he was just crazy, she’d be helping him all the same.

Marinette laughed, and reached out on impulse to ruffle his soft, flaxen hair. “Can’t say I have, but I guess I’m always interested in trying new things. You can stay with me until you go home,” she smiled.

He gave her the purest smile she had ever seen on anyone older than one. “Thank you, Marinette. Thank you so much,” he said, taking her hand in both of his.

She tried to ignore the weird squeeze her heart gave when he gazed up at her softly from his spot at her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw I'm not trying to make any real statements about religion in this story, it's just the reality I've set up within which to set these events.


	3. Houseguest

“You can sleep on the chaise longue,” Marinette said, industriously bustling around the room, tidying up scrap material and sewing supplies. “I’ll go downstairs and find blankets and pillows.”

Adrien nodded, looking a little lost as she zipped around the room while he stood, bemused, in the middle of it.

She bounded down the stairs, making a beeline for the linen closet, but ran into her mother at the foot of the stairs.

“Slow down, Marinette. Where’s the fire?” she laughed, bracing her daughter’s forearms to steady her.

“Sorry, Maman. I’m just getting some blankets for Adrien,” she said. “I know it’s short notice, but he’s sort of… having trouble with home and I said he could stay here for a few days while he sorts things out and I know I should have asked you first but he asked me for help and I couldn’t say no and he can sleep on my couch so he won’t be in your way!”

“Of course he can stay,” she interrupted, waving her hands in a _calm down_ motion. “We trust your judgement. But I have to say I’m a little surprised he’d come here, of all places. I’d never heard of him before tonight.”

Marinette didn’t like the shrewd look in her eyes, and scrambled to nip any thoughts heading in another direction in the bud.

“Oh, well, you know, I’m always going on about the crazy things Alya has gotten up to, I guess I just never mentioned him. But we’re definitely friends,” she said, cringing at how suspicious she sounded. “In fact, Alya knows him too. He’s been to a few parties and stuff, he’s always around.”

Sabine stared at her, unconvinced, a sceptical eyebrow raised. “Well, whatever you say. I hope he’s not too upset, and of course he can ask for anything he needs,” she said, and walked off towards her bedroom.

Marinette sagged against the wall, before yanking some bedding out of the closet and racing back upstairs.

She placed them on the bed and hunted for her phone, pulling up her conversation with her best friend. _Hey, I need you to back up a cover-story._

Alya, true to form, replied immediately. _Sounds juicy. What’s the story?_

 _You are also friends with a guy called Adrien. He hangs out with a lot of the same people,_ Marinette wrote back.

_Omg, dish. Who is Adrien and why do I know him? Why do YOU?_

Marinette sighed. _Long story short, he’s a new friend and I’m letting him stay at my place for a few days, but I told my mum something less dodgy._

_Pics or it didn’t happen._

Things would go easier if Marinette capitulated to Alya’s demands – they always did. And if it came down to it, she was Adrien’s ticket to credibility.

“Adrien?” she groaned.

He looked up from where he was sprawled on her swivel chair, looking at her great collage of pictures on the wall. Photos of her with her friends mixed with magazine clippings and idea sketches wallpapered the whole area around her desk.

“Yes?”

“I told my parents we’ve been friends for a while, and my best friend Alya also knows you. She’ll cover or us if we need her to, but she wants a photo of what you look like. Is that okay?” she worried. Maybe he didn’t want any permanent evidence of his existence or something.

“Sure,” he answered easily, coming to stand next to her.

She opened her camera app and he bent down to put his head next to hers. She ignored the way he curved in close to her to fit in frame and took the selfie.

Sending it off to Alya, she put the phone down.

“Okay, so, bedding: check. I have a spare toothbrush you can use, I’ll show you the bathroom,” she said, leading him back downstairs.

He followed without comment, simply a peaceful smile resting on his face. As she dug in the cabinet under the sink, she froze.

“Wait, can I ask… do you even need to, like, shower and go to the bathroom and stuff?” she frowned uncertainly.

He laughed musically. “While I’m on Earth, I have a human body, with the same needs and functions as every other body,” he said. “Although, it can’t be damaged. Angel bonus.”

The conversation was surreal enough when discussing the mundane aspect of his supposed angel status, but revelations like that kicked things up a notch.

“What do you mean?” she spluttered.

“Well, since cupids are basically romantic meddlers, there’s not much danger involved in my day job. But during serious times of disruption, angels of all orders and ranks can be drafted into dangerous situations. Or we can just get hurt because of bad luck. Either way, we get a free pass. Our bodies cannot be harmed by mortal weapons or illnesses,” he explained.

Marinette stayed frozen, crouched on the bathroom floor in front of him with a new toothbrush in her hand. After a few drawn-out seconds, she stood and handed him the brush.

“So, what else can you do?” she asked.

He sighed and leant back against the glass wall of the shower, looking at the ceiling in thought.

“Well, it all comes from basically storing more energy in our souls than human people. I think we’re stronger, and we don’t tire out easily – as long as we sleep a normal amount. I can fly, though I can hardly use my wings in an urban area like Paris. I’m still pretty low-ranking, I can only manifest small miracles,” he said, apparently picking random things from some longer list that he couldn’t be bothered going through.

“Can I see them?” she blurted out, then clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Pardon?”

“Uh, can I please see your… wings? If that’s, I don’t know, allowed, then I’d really appreciate it. I think I could get some really good inspiration from them,” she stumbled.

He looked a little uncomfortable. “Maybe a bit later,” he hedged.

“Yeah, yeah, totally. Whatever you’re comfortable with. No big deal,” she rushed.

Awkward silence reigned.

“Right! Well,” she said too loudly in the small space, “we better get ready to turn in for the night. I can try to find something for you to sleep in?”

“Thanks,” he said, earning a shrug and wave of the hand from Marinette.

“I’ve never slept on Earth before, so I’m actually kind of looking forward to it,” he laughed bashfully.

“Well, if you have any trouble with it, you’ve come to the right place. I have something of a reputation for sleeping through anything and everything,” she said with a roll of her eyes as she left the room.

+++

When Adrien came back up the stairs, Marinette was rifling through her closet, on her hands and knees, digging through piles of fabric in boxes at the bottom. She sat back and pushed her fringe back when he walked in.

Skinny jeans and combat boots were a great look on him, but not so comfy for sleeping in.

“I have a couple of shirts that might fit you, but that’s all I can find,” she said a little helplessly, holding up several oversized tees.

“Thanks, Marinette,” he smiled, walking over and accepting the pile of cloth. One was black with the Black Sabbath logo on the front and tour dates on the back that she had bought for a costume in high school, one was plain grey, and one had a cartoon Minion on a hot pink background because Alya knew she would hate it.

Rather to her horror, he dropped the grey and the black onto the couch, apparently choosing the pink as his favourite. She guessed he might want to wear the others during the day, but she still choked at the idea of an Armani model strutting around her house in a hot pink t-shirt, with a Minion in pink overalls in a flirty pose making heart-eyes on it.

“If you want to shower, feel free to use any shampoo you want from the bathroom,” she offered.

With a grateful nod, he kicked off his expensive-looking black boots and jogged back down the stairs.

Marinette stared after him, sighing a little dreamily, before shoving the contents of her wardrobe back where it belonged.

+++

She was back at her desk, sketching a new idea for an edgier take on a suit clearly inspired by Adrien’s black getup, when she heard him coming back upstairs.

He wore the gaudy top, dark blue boxers, and nothing else. His golden hair was made brown by the water and hung in dripping loose waves nearly to his shoulders. He looked like had just run out of the surf in a perfectly-cast tourism ad for Bondi, except woefully badly dressed.

He threw the pile of clothes onto the rug next to the chaise, and sat cross legged on a cushion nearby.

“That was actually really fun,” he laughed. “I’ve never showered before. I love the way shampoo bubbles and foams. I have to say, I understand the love around deluxe hygiene products now! Soap, shampoo, body wash; so many different smells and feelings!”

He was like a child stuck in an adult’s body, in a way. Marinette had to admit she found it very sweet.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she giggled. “I’m probably about ready to go to bed, if you’re happy to.”

“Of course,” he said, getting to his feet. “But I do have what I suppose is a stupid question.”

She paused on her way to the ladder that led to her bed. “Yes?”

“How do you fall asleep? Do you just lie there?” he laughed awkwardly, dragging his hands through his wet hair.

“Um, good question, I guess, if you’ve never tried before,” she acknowledged. “Yeah, usually. Just get as comfortable as you can, and try to let your thoughts slow down. Just relax long enough, and off you go. If you struggle, try counting breaths or something repetitive.”

He listened intensely, bent on memorising her instructions.

“Sounds simple enough. Thank you, Marinette. For everything. Your generosity and goodwill are worthy of Heaven itself,” he said, capturing her hand and holding it between hers like before. Again, the gesture made her feel fluttery and like she wanted to giggle or jump up and down or faint, all at once.

“Bonne nuit,” was all she said in reply, smiling up at him and hoping he didn’t see the stars in her eyes.

“Bonne nuit,” he murmured back, looking very much like she thought she must.

He relinquished her hand slowly, fingers dragging over her skin slowly as she pulled away.


	4. Observer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update because only uploading one every few days would take so long and i most certainly do not have that kind of patience. Also, it's Friday.

Mornings were never a sedate affair in the Dupain-Cheng household. Marinette’s parents were always up with the sun, but she, herself, was locked in a battle with time itself for an infinite number of ‘five more minutes.’

This morning was no great exception, with Marinette protesting against the harsh noise of her repeated alarms and remaining in bed for a good fifteen minutes after first waking. Eventually, she reluctantly sat up in bed, blearily rubbing her eyes.

Looking down from her mezzanine onto the main part of her bedroom, she spied Adrien still sleeping on her couch. One long leg was bent, the other hanging out from the blanket off the end. He had his covers cosily pulled up over his chin, and his fair hair flopped over his eyes. He exuded a careless and vulnerable beauty that demanded it be captured. Marinette wished she had time to paint him; the scene below had a balance and soft vibrancy to it that made it appear as though lifted from a master’s painting.

Shaking herself, she stumbled out of bed and down to his level.

“Adrien,” she called softly. “Adrien.”

He stirred with a mumble, and then sat up to push his hair out of his face. Stretching his back in an ugly t-shirt, he didn’t look anything more than a regular person waking up for class, albeit an uncommonly good-looking person.

“I have to get ready and go to class. Are you going to come with me, or…?” she didn’t know what else he had on, if anything. What did an angel do on Earth without instructions from his boss? Or would he have come down from some mysterious drug, confess to being a normal person and go home? In the light of day, while he didn’t seem crazy or dangerous, it still crossed Marinette’s mind that she should report him to a hospital or something.

“I might as well tag along,” he said. “I normally just wander around until I spot a mark to follow.”

“A ‘mark’?” she repeated. “How do you find one of those?”

He tossed the blanket aside and jumped upright energetically, casting about for his things.

“That’s one of my special skills as a cupid,” he explained distractedly as he got down on his knees to pull his boots out from under his makeshift bed. “People who are ready to come into contact with someone with whom they can have a really strong bond, who they’re destined to love, give off a certain energy. You can’t quite see it, or hear it, or taste it, but something sort of in the middle. Follow them around, and their destiny will probably be circling nearby. A little push in the right direction, and hey presto.”

He straightened, looking somewhere between dreamy and determined. Inspired, maybe.

Like always, what he said sort of made sense, but was also unbelievable in the extreme.

“Well, okay then,” she said doubtfully. “Hurry up and get dressed. I’m going to the bathroom.”

+++

Adrien stood calmly and quietly beside her on the metro, in his black jeans, black leather, and band shirt, looking like a model escaped from a fragrance ad. He glanced absently around the train carriage, and contentedly followed when she stepped off.

As they headed up to street level and towards the university, she threw him a speculative look.

“I’ve been wondering. What’s with all the outfits?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he frowned, looking down at his clothes.

“I saw you a bunch of times yesterday, and you were always wearing something different. How come?” she furrowed her brow, not seeing how that fitted in with the rest of his story.

He laughed.

“Like I said, I follow people around, sometimes one person for hours. If they go to a school dance, I’m hardly going to wear what I wore to a corporate function or to sneak into a wedding reception,” he pointed out.

“That makes sense,” she allowed, “but what I want to know, is how you get all these clothes? Do you shoplift?”

“Of course not,” he blanched, mortified at the suggestion. “I actually can’t commit a sin unless it is specifically ordained.”

“Really?” she interrupted. “As in, _can’t-_ can’t?”

“Yep, I physically couldn’t steal or lie if I tried,” he smiled serenely. “I can perform small miracles pretty easily if I need to, so I can just buy it.”

“What, money just divinely manifests in your wallet?” she threw at him with heavy scepticism.

“Yes.”

“Sure it does,” she scoffed.

Adrien let out a charming little laugh.

“You don’t believe me? Put your hand in my pocket,” he smiled, gesturing at the closest one on his jacket.

She pursed her lips, and stuck her hand in it.

Empty.

“There’s nothing in there,” she said, withdrawing her hand.

“Right,” he said, light amusement dancing on his lips. “And nothing in my hand?”

He held out his left hand, fingers splayed, demonstrating it was empty too. Once she nodded her confirmation, he put in back in his pocket. A moment later, he pulled out a €20 note.

Marinette stared.

“Okay, how did you do that?” she asked incredulously.

“I’m not allowed to say anything more than that it was miraculous. How we go about channelling energy to affect the physical reality is forbidden knowledge for mortals,” he grinned.

“So, slight of hand,” she mumbled.

Either he didn’t hear her, or didn’t want to dignify her comment with a response. He just strode along beside her, his stride all relaxed elegance and his golden hair flipping about in the cool air from under his beanie.

“Okay, here we are,” she said once they turned into the campus. “There’s no attendance marking for lectures, so there’s no problem you coming in with me. I have workshops and small tutorials later in the day, so I’m going to have to leave you somewhere for that.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said easily.

“Right. We’re just over here.” Marinette led him into a breezeway, with cinderblock walls painted cream and plastered with posters about student plays and upcoming protests to funding cuts. She paused, hand on the door and eyes closed, and sent up a silent prayer to a Heaven that didn’t send delusional runaway boys to her doorstep. She prayed that bringing Adrien into a public space where people knew her wouldn’t backfire. He loomed over her, curiously peering down and wondering what she was doing.

He was so close behind her that she could sense him shiver.

“Are you… praying?” he asked in a weird tone.

“What? How do you– no! Why would I be praying, now especially?” she spluttered. “Come on, and be quiet.”

Adrien followed wordlessly as she led him through the door leading to the back of the lecture theatre. There were already about sixty people dotted about the rows of seating, murmuring quietly as they waited for the lecturer to start. Marinette directed him to sit down near the back, and he obediently folded himself into the seat beside her. Thankfully, he didn’t mention the praying thing, and was content to sit smilingly and take in the scenery.

She pulled out her exercise book and ripped out a blank page for him, also passing over a spare pen.

“You might as well take notes,” she said. “I’m taking Chinese as an elective, so you might learn something you can use.”

“Oh, I already speak Chinese,” he said, accepting the pen and paper nonchalantly.

“You do?” she blinked.

He grinned, and replied with several sentences of rapid Mandarin that totally went over her head. She blinked.

“Why do you speak Chinese?” she asked in bemusement.

He laughed quietly. “Why do I speak French? Heaven isn’t a European invention,” he smiled.

“What, so you can just speak every language?” she hissed. So not fair. Hours upon hours of study and she could barely hold a brief conversation in the language of her mother’s homeland.

He gave her a cheeky smile, and just shrugged.

Marinette huffed in annoyance but settled in to take notes as the lecturer walked started addressing the room.

+++

The class passed without Adrien having an episode or performing a miracle – that she noticed, at any rate. The craziness/holiness was apparently contained.

Or not, as became clear when they stood to file out of the room.

“Why are you staring at that girl?” Marinette whispered, craning her neck to watch a girl with curly hair and glasses walk through the doors and trying to pick out anything unusual about her.

“She’s ready,” Adrien replied, his voice intense as he gazed at her seriously. “She’s practically vibrating completeness and goodness. This is going to be a big one.”

He sounded so excited, Marinette felt like she should almost be creeped out. Instead, she felt anticipation building in her own chest.

“I don’t really know her, but we’ve spoken, like, once,” she said. “She seems really nice.”

Adrien seemed to agree with her assessment of the girl. “She makes an effort to be a good person,” he murmured, leaning closer to speak more privately. “I have to follow her.”

“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you later. Where do you want to meet?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know how long this will take,” he said, not looking away from the girl they were still drifting after.

Marinette needed to break off to go to the workroom where she had already agreed to meet some friends, but lingered by Adrien’s side as they spoke.

“You just do whatever you need to, and I’ll find you when I’m done,” he said, still not looking at Marinette.

“How?”

“Same way I found you last night,” he said, at last turning back to her. He leant in, running a hand down her arm as he spoke in a low voice that sent a shiver through her. “I could sense you halfway around the world. The energy your soul gives off is… unforgettable.”

And then he was gone, off to make her random classmate’s life complete, apparently.

Marinette blinked dopily after him, a little woozy at the memory of his blazing green eyes as he’d stared down into hers, and spoken so intensely.

She shook herself, whirling and marching towards the workroom where Thomas and Isabella awaited her.

+++

Marinette was working on a black jacket that was a modern, sharp interpretation of an old naval uniform design. As much as she loved the design she’d come up with, the time she’d put into the beading was going to make her go cross-eyed.

“I am so full of regret,” she moaned, ripping open what seemed like the thousandth packet of little golden glass beads.

Thomas laughed. “You’re nearly there, and it’s totally going to be worth it. That jacket looks incredible, Mari. I only wish you’d made it my size,” he sighed.

“If I die before it’s done, burn me in it. Send us to Hell together,” she sighed dramatically.

“No way, I’m keeping all your good stuff,” Isabelle said. “Don’t be so wasteful.”

Marinette scoffed, and the three of them lapsed into companionable silence as they continued with their respective pieces.

“Cousine Catherine is having another party tonight. I wasn’t thinking of going, but I actually think I can be bothered. You guys in?” Isabelle said after a while.

“God, yes. I need to let loose, I haven’t done anything fun in a month, at least,” Thomas said. “Mari?”

“I don’t know,” she bit her lip as she stitched a red bead into place. “I have someone staying with me for a few days and I don’t know…”

“Bring them!” Isabelle interrupted. “You know _ma ch_ _è_ _re cousine_ , the more the merrier at her parties. Wait, are they under 35?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then they’re invited! Are they hot?” she pressed.

Marinette clamped her mouth shut, and went bright red.

Thomas burst into obnoxious laughter immediately. “Drop dead gorgeous, if that face is anything to go by. Are you getting some?” he wiggled his brows at her, poking her in the side to try to get her to respond.

“Say you’ll invite them? I want to meet the Hottie Houseguest,” Isabelle whined.

“I’ll mention it. No promises that I’ll come, or that I’ll bring him with me,” Marinette grudgingly agreed, to cheers from her companions. Whatever ribbing was to come over the whole Adrien situation, she could take some comfort in the fact that the beading was one session away from completion, and she was very pleased with her handiwork there, at least.


	5. Friend

When she walked out of her costuming workshop that afternoon, Adrien stood beside the doorway, waiting for her.

Isabelle walked alongside her, following Marinette’s gaze when her steps faltered in surprise.

“Hey, I have to go. I’ll text you about tonight, okay?” she said, already edging towards where Adrien stood with his hands in his pockets, slouched attractively and eyes sparkling with excitement as he looked at the two of them.

“Yeah, sure thing,” Isabelle replied, slow smile stretching her lips as her eyes flicked between the two of them.

Reaching Adrien, she took his elbow and steered him away before they could get into a discussion with one of her friends.

“So, how did it go?” she asked as they headed back towards the métro.

A blissful grin lit up his face, and Marinette felt herself getting distracted by the adorable expression.

“It was magnificent. Both of them had delightful energies, it’s so encouraging to think of what they could do now that they’re together,” he sighed happily.

He was just so… wholesome. She guessed it made perfect sense, if he really was designed by some mysterious god/CEO of the celestial office Adrien described.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “What did you do?”

“Knocked the dog leash out of the other girl’s hand, and the one I was following helped catch the dog,” he answered, dreamy smile still in place as he reminisced.

“Well, that’s… nice, I guess,” she said awkwardly. “Uh, good job, I suppose.”

They were silent on the train home, leaning against a divider next to each other comfortably. But also nervously, on Marinette’s part. Now that the weirdness factor had worn off to a degree, the fact that she had adopted a beautiful boy with the sunniest disposition she had ever seen was taking full effect, and she was slightly flustered by his dazzling, cheery smiles.

Once they disembarked and headed towards the bakery, Marinette spoke up.

“I don’t know if you’re busy, or tired or something, but I’ve been invited to a party tonight at a friend’s place, and you’re welcome to come,” she said, fingers twisting in the tasselled edge of her soft pink scarf.

He looked at her, but she didn’t turn her head to see his expression.

“A party?” he sounded slightly awed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party like that. Too hard to sneak into, usually. Very much in-and-out if I have business there. I’d love to go.”

He sounded so innocently excited, she couldn’t help but smile up at him.

“Okay then. Let’s party.”

+++

Partying is easier said than done, sometimes.

Outfits must be chosen, routes researched, drinks procured, make-up applied. Parents placated.

When the pair jogged up the stairs and walked into the apartment, Marinette’s mother stood at the stove, preparing dinner for the four of them.

“Marinette, Adrien,” she greeted, coming over and leaning up to kiss their cheeks. Marinette only hand to lean down a little, but the way Adrien bent his long frame to meet the diminutive woman made her want to take a photo or coo.

“Salut Maman,” she said, stripping off her coat and scarf. “What smells so good?”

“Chicken curry,” she answered. “Should be ready in a bit over half an hour.”

Adrien gravitated back over to Marinette, curving into her space to speak to her quietly.

“Where is the closest department store? I should probably buy a few things before they close,” he murmured, frowning at the wall clock that read 5:30.

“About a block away. If you want, we can probably get back before dinner,” she said softly, but he smiled and shook his head.

“It’s just a quick trip, I can go alone. I should be back soon,” he smiled, slipping back out the door and presumably striding down the road the way she had motioned.

“Where’s he off to?” Sabine asked as she stirred the curry.

“He didn’t bring anything with him, so he might be buying some basics,” she shrugged. “He said he was headed to the shops quickly.”

Her mother just nodded, focusing on her cooking for a while, adding some dried spices from one of the cupboards. Just as her daughter started to head for the stair, she spoke again.

“He seems like a very sweet boy,” she said with a smile.

“Yeah, he’s really kind. I don’t think he’s done anything to be mean in his life,” Marinette answered with an awkward-sounding laugh.

“How is he dealing with fighting with his parents? He seems too sensitive for that sort of thing,” she worried.

The younger woman had really no idea how to answer that. Adrien wasn’t fighting with parents – he didn’t even have any, as far as she knew. She didn’t really know him at all, but if she was claiming to be friends with him, she was going to have to wing it.

“Uh, well… He’s a really gentle person, but strong. I think he’s doing okay,” she said, commendably vaguely. “He hasn’t told me exactly what happened, but I feel like it will blow over in a few days.”

She seemed mollified, nodding sympathetically. “I hope so. Such a lovely young man,” she said, her eyebrow raising slightly as she looked at Marinette.

She hummed noncommittally and pulled out her phone to tell Isabella that the two of them were attending the party.

“Oh, Maman, Isabelle invited me out tonight, and Adrien too, so a bit after dinner we’re going to head off, okay?” she said.

“Alright, but be careful, and stick together if you’re walking around at night,” Sabine cautioned as Marinette ran upstairs to find something to wear.

“Yes, Maman!” she called as she disappeared from view.

Throwing open her armoire, she cast a critical eye over her options. It was cold outside, and would only get colder, so she would need a big coat and scarf. A dress, enough to make a bit of an effort but no try too hard, was the right choice for this sort of party. It always got pretty warm inside the crowded set of apartments, occupied by Isabella’s cousin and several of her friends, which together hosted some highly revered social events.

She pulled out a fitted black dress, with long sleeves and red cuffs, collar and buttons. With tights and boots, she was sure she’d be able to make the journey without freezing solid.

As she dug out the left boot from behind a pile of shoes, Adrien appeared, holding several bags, which he placed beside his makeshift bed.

“I suppose I should have asked; what’s the dress code for this party?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck a little self-consciously.

“Pretty low-key,” she reassured him. “What you’re wearing is fine, if you’ll be warm enough on the way there.”

He hummed thoughtfully as he rifled through his purchases. He pulled out a dark grey jumper with several unnecessary zips down the sides and set it on the chaise.

She passed him pair of scissors for the tags as she brushed past to look through one of her jewellery boxes for the pair of red and black spotted earrings that would match her outfit perfectly.

She leant into the mirror behind her vanity to replace the sparkly pink ones from earlier. As she slid the backing onto the second piece of jewellery, a knock sounded on the trapdoor before her papa’s head appeared in the room.

“Dinner’s on the table, you two,” he said.

“Coming!” she called, stepping away from her reflection. “Come on, let’s eat. This thing starts at half past nine, so we should leave a bit after the hour.”

+++

Adrien looked ill at ease seated at the dinner table with her parents.

“Is something wrong?” Marinette whispered, leaning close.

“Oh, no,” he smiled, shaking his head. “I’ve just never had a meal like this. Sitting down with other people.”

Her father frowned, her mother cocked her head, and Marinette rolled her eyes skyward and wished he would learn to lower his voice.

She gave a forced laugh, and patted his forearm in a show of consolation.

“He’s exaggerating. His parents down have much time to spend together as a family, you know,” she explained to her parents, who accepted it. Thankfully.

“Oh! Yes, I find parental neglect quite upsetting,” he added, and she bit back the urge to click her tongue in irritation.

“This is so good, Maman, thank you,” she cut in, smiling around the spoon as she stuffed a heaping into her mouth.

There was a chorus of agreement from around the table, and then they ate in blessed silence for a few minutes.

“So, how do you two actually know each other, Adrien?” her father asked conversationally.

“We met through mutual friends,” Marinette said before he could answer the question with something that would get her into trouble. “He hangs out with Alya and some people from school.”

“Let the boy get a word in edgeways, why don’t we?” he admonished with a chuckle.

“We seemed to be in the same place at the same time enough, we were bound to get to know each other,” Adrien smiled, his eyes almost squeezing shut in his radiant expression.

It was extremely gratifying to Marinette that her parents seemed slightly dumbstruck by his wholesome innocence too, and that she wasn’t just hopelessly drawn to a good-looking guy. She was suspected he had some weird angelic mojo that made him all loveable and trustworthy. And she didn’t seem to be the only one to sense it.

She also picked up on how his diplomatic answer seemed to carefully avoid untruths. She wondered if lying was a “sin” that he couldn’t commit unless someone upstairs signed off on it. It was going to be incredibly inconvenient, if that was the case.

“And how is Alya? We haven’t seen her for a few weeks,” Sabine said.

“Good, I think. I might see her in the next few days,” he replied casually, as though he knew her at all.

“How’s that portraiture assignment coming along?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged with a thoughtful frown. “Marinette?” He was a good actor, she had to admit.

“Not much luck. She’s got ideas for all the makeshift equipment they have to use, but no one will agree to model for her,” she said.

“Why not you?” Tom suggested, moustache twitching in amusement.

“I’m way too awkward, you know that! And it sounds way too arty and uncomfortable and possibly half-naked for me to get involved,” she rushed, waving her hands out in front of her frantically.

“Has she asked Adrien?” Sabine asked, inclining her head towards him.

“No. She might be able to convince me,” he shrugged.

“I’ll suggest it to her,” Marinette grinned, clapping her hands excitedly. No one wanted to pose for Alya’s project, because it sounded downright uncomfortable, and she couldn’t afford a model. Her prayers may just have been answered.

After a few more minutes of relaxed conversation largely about the bakery, Marinette and Adrien excused themselves to get ready to go out. While she brushed her teeth at the sink of the small bathroom, he stood behind her and ran his fingers through his hair. It sat perfectly, a shorter lock determined to fall across his face and brush against his lip tantalisingly. He was gorgeous without trying, damn him.

She ran upstairs, added a little makeup and painted her lips a bold red, before carefully sliding into the outfit she had chosen. She kept one foot on the trapdoor lest Adrien come looking for her while she was wiggling into her stockings, topless. He knocked, waiting for her invitation to come up, while she was lacing up her boots.

He walked over to the chaise where she sat, pulling on the expensive-looking jumper he had picked out before adding his leather jacket from earlier on top. He left the beanie out of the ensemble, and stepped back into his combat boots.

“Ready when you are,” he said, offering a smile over his shoulder as he walked over to examine the collection on her wall again.

She hummed, pulling out a black coat and red scarf from the wardrobe. She threw them on, ruffled her loose hair, and turned to him.

“That’s Alya,” she said. He was closely looking at a photo of the two of them, smiling into the camera and squishing each other’s cheeks, on a school trip to Calais. “Back when we were in high school.”

He glanced over the whole wall. “You know so many people,” he said softly. “You forget, when you’re just watching, just how complex every person is. So many friends, so many people you used to talk to, or even just met once. You’re all so… surrounded. All the time. It’s beautiful.”

She looked away from her wall, dotted with captured moments with friends from over the years. She looked at him instead. He seemed saddened, lonely even.

“And you? Do you know many people?” she asked tentatively.

He met her gaze. “Angels like me are forbidden from going where the dead go. The only people I can talk to are other angels, and it’s not the same. Earth is so… chaotic. Every single person can go somewhere else and do something completely different on a whim. Heaven is ordered. Not that we don’t have free will, but there isn’t the same kind of… openness, I suppose, as there is for mortals down here,” he said. “The only person I know down here is you, Marinette.”

“I’m glad I know you, then,” she whispered. They stayed caught in one another’s gaze for an immeasurable moment.

Her phone chimed, and the spell was broken.

She jumped with a high-pitched squeal of surprise, and he gave a soft chuckle.

“Isabelle says we should bring mixers,” she reported. “We’ll stop off after we get off the métro. Now, let’s party!”


	6. Partyboy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though not too spicy, some of the content of this chapter is a little adult. Alcohol, sexual references, some sexual content. Proceed accordingly.

They approached the apartment building side by side, each carrying a bag of soft drinks and a bottle of wine. Marinette led the way up the stairs until they reached the third floor. Thumping bass echoed through the door and into the stairwell, bouncing around the stark space.

Throwing a smile up at Adrien, she wrenched open the heavy, fire-proof door and strode through.

The party was spread over four of the six flats on the floor, spilling out into the hallway. Young people milled about, swaying to the blaring dance music, drinking out of Dora the Explorer and Thomas the Tank Engine paper cups.

She took Adrien’s hand and pulled him through the crowd towards the first door on the left. She wound through the packed living area, heading for Catherine’s bathroom, where the modest bathtub would be filled with ice, to deposit the drinks. Several people called out to her as they spotted her through the crowd, and she waved back but kept moving. Until Catherine herself darted out from behind a pair of tall guys with glitter smeared on their cheekbones.

“Marine! You made it!” she squealed in delight, bouncing forward to give her la bise, before grinning up at the man at her shoulder. “And you brought a friend. Isn’t he scrumptious?”

He bent forward to kiss her, suffering her grabbing hands and ostentatious lip smacking with good grace. Catherine was the ultimate hostess, acting as though each and every person who showed up was the one she utterly relied upon for it to be a good night.

“Throw your coats in the bedroom, if you dare; the closet’s full. Bar’s in the kitchen, leave bottles in the bathroom. Dora cups if you like girls, Thomas if you like boys, strike through with a Sharpie if you’re non-negotiably taken. We were supposed to have Ben 10 for bi, but they went missing. Just alternate if you need,” she instructed, rushing out the last comment as someone tugged her away by the arm.

They pushed down the little corridor, dropping off the drinks they’d brought and continuing down to the bedroom door. Marinette knocked loudly, paused, and then opened the door. A guy and a girl stood to one side in casual conversation, smiling at the newcomers politely, but the smear of pink lip-gloss leading under the boy’s collar gave them away.

Marinette dropped her coat and scarf into a draw under the bed and let him throw his jacket beside hers, hidden by the covers, and pulled Adrien back out into the fray, closing the door behind them.

“So,” she yelled, pulling him down by the shoulder so she could speak into his ear over the din of the music as partygoers screamed along to Bohemian Rhapsody, struggling with the rapid English but more than compensating with enthusiasm. “Anyone here have the magical love aura?”

He laughed.

“Not that I’ve noticed. But it’s so packed in here it would be hard to tell,” he said.

She nodded, pouring some punch into a Thomas cup at the kitchen counter.

“What cup do you want?” she asked.

“Uh, the girl, I guess,” he shrugged. She wondered momentarily if angels had sexualities. Did they get it on with other angels? Did they even have genders when they weren’t slumming it on Planet Earth? Either way, she handed him a paper cup that probably contained spirits, wine and a little cordial, and he took a sip.

“Alcohol?” he asked into her ear. She nodded emphatically. “I’ve never had any before. It’s so weird in the mouth.”

She laughed at his charming naïveté. “Be careful, this stuff is strong, and if you don’t know your tolerance…” she trailed off, making a face.

He looked into his cup with alarm, which he directed at her when she took a swig from her own. He opened his mouth but before he could speak, Isabella dashed up to the counter and collapsed into a barstool.

“Mariiiiiiiine!” she squealed, drawing out the E sound with a childlike smile, arms up in the air like she was on a rollercoaster. “And the sexy boy from before! I’m Isabella, also sexy. How are you?”

Adrien looked taken aback, but smiled at her nonetheless. “I’m well, thank you. My name’s Adrien, by the way. Nice to meet you,” he said politely.

“Sexy name,” she approved, nodding seriously. “Hit me again.”

The sudden change of tone came as she slammed her cup onto the wooden countertop. She had taken a Dora cup, added eyeliner and a nose-ring with Sharpie, as well as a chimney puffing a trail of crudely drawn smoke. A speech bubble read ‘I swing both ways.’ She was clearly not taking the loss of the bisexual cups lying down.

Marinette filled the cup and passed it back.

“Oh my God, did you see Stéphan and Mandy blow up?” Isabella gushed, leaning forward. They both shook their heads.

“We only just got here,” she replied.

“Well, it was incredible. Apparently he was playing some party game and let a girl kiss him for a sec. Mandy heard about it, snubbed him when he tried to dance with her. So he told her it was all her fault, because she’s been giving him the cold shoulder. And then it turns out that she knew he’d been cheating on her for weeks! And she was putting off dumping him because his mate told her that he was getting her VIP concert tickets for her birthday,” she told them breathlessly. “How incredible, I’m dying.”

“What a mess,” Marinette said. “I guess she was in the right to try to get something out of it, in a sense.”

“ _St_ _é_ _phan est con_. A real dick,” Isabelle said dismissively. “Always has been, always will be.” With that, she lifted her cup in a salute, grabbed a beer, and walked off. 

“Want to mingle?” she asked. Adrien shrugged, so she gestured that he should follow and lead the way out of the apartment.

In the hall, an arm dropped around her shoulders.

“Thomas!” she smiled, turning into the embrace and kissing his cheeks. He wasn’t terribly tall, and in her chunky heels she delighted in almost matching his height. “ _Je te presente Adrien.”_

Adrien nodded his hello and shook the hand Thomas offered him.

“Stunning, you were right,” he murmured into her ear before stepping back. “My friend from Marseille is here. Meet Alexis.”

Alexis stepped forward. He was a little taller than Thomas, with a thick build and Mediterranean colouring. “Bonsoir,” he greeted, shaking hands with Adrien and kissing Marinette.

They made chatted for a while before Adrien spoke quietly in her ear.

“I need to talk to you for a sec,” he said.

“Excuse us for a minute,” Marinette told the boys before he pulled her away, ducking into the doorway of the apartment belonging to Catherine’s neighbour.

“Alexis is ready. He’s practically vibrating with it. And apparently the person he’s supposed to meet is nearby,” he said urgently, stooping to speak close to her face.

“How can you tell? Did you see them?” she asked, excited.

He shook his head. “I can just tell when they’re close. It’s hard to explain. They might be at the party.”

“How do we find out who it is?” she frowned.

“I’ll know when I see them. They’ll be impossible to miss, glowing that bright,” he said.

“Okay, so let’s just do a lap of the party, then,” she smiled. “Come on! This is so cool, oh my God.”

They went farther into the apartment, picking up drinks at the kitchenette as they passed. People were playing games on the console, and though Marinette would normally be tempted to join in, they were on a mission.

As the pair of them stood against the wall, tipping back their drinks, Adrien cast his eye over the other attendees. At her questioning look, he shook his head.

“Want to check the bedroom?” she asked.

He nodded, and they trotted down the little corridor. Repeating her earlier process, she knocked, waited, and then opened the door. A girl sat, crying, on the bed, being consoled by a friend on either side. They all looked up at the intrusion, and Marinette murmured an apology as she slowly closed the door. Adrien, leaning over her shoulder to peer into the room, confirmed none of them were the one they were looking for.

They poked their heads into the bathroom, even checking the closet near the front door. Neither of them were expecting to find anyone in the closet. When they found a couple kissing passionately inside, Marinette slammed it shut with a squeak.

She blushed furiously and grabbed a bottle of cider to replace her empty drink. Adrien followed her lead, a pink dusting across his high cheekbones.

“If only your problems could be solved by seven minutes in a cupboard, huh?” she joked.

He choked on the mouthful he was trying to swallow, eyes bugging out her as he coughed. “Pardon?” he spluttered.

“Oh! No! Oh, my God,” she backpedalled. “I didn’t mean it like that… like anything. I just, you know, that game…. Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

He furrowed his elegant brow, more confused than scandalised. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Oh, well, they were probably just in there because they wanted privacy, you know. But there’s a game that people play in high school, mostly,” she explained haltingly, “called ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven.’ It’s pretty simple: you and someone else are locked by the other players in a closet for exactly seven minutes. The idea is that you make out.”

Adrien nodded sagely, listening to her ramblings like an anthropological researcher. Or a passionate conservationist who had come to live among a group of chimps.

After a long pause hung awkwardly between them.

“That’s very funny,” he noted clinically.

Marinette couldn’t help it; she burst into hysterical laughter. After a second, he joined her uproar.

They got a few weird looks, and she wiped her eyes and pulled him out of the apartment. They repeated their search in the third flat, this time with an empty bedroom, and she made him try a jelly shot. She videoed it for posterity, and focused on not making it weird when he used his tongue to prise the chunk out of the bottom of the plastic cup. She would probably watch it again later.

As they exited into the hallway, Thomas spotted them and intercepted them.

“Where did you two run off to, hmm?” he grinned as he sidled up. “Have a fruitful little _chat_ in private, did we?”

Adrien nodded casually until she elbowed him in the ribs, scowling at her friend. “Actually, we were looking for someone Adrien knows, but we can’t find them,” she said.

“Oh, bummer. Anyone I know?”

“Nah. If they’re here we’ll find them,” she shrugged.

“Oh, hey, meet my friend Daphne. She came up from Marseille with Alexis, but she’s from Canada,” he said, snagging a woman with short, green hair as she passed.

“I’m Marinette, and this is Adrien. How long have you been in France?” she smiled.

“Three years. I’m here to study,” Daphne answered easily, clearly inebriated enough to be remarkably relaxed with new people. Her accent made her speech weird and twangy, but it was pleasant in a bold way.

“She’s the person. Alexis’ someone,” Adrien whispered in her ear, lips brushing against her skin slightly. She tried not to jump at the contact, or react to the information.

“Oh, that’s cool. And do you know Alexis from university?” she asked, her voice a little pitchy.

“Yeah. He’s great, and really helped me out when I first got here,” she smiled, a soft look entering her silver-lined eyes. “I wonder where he got to…”

As she looked around for her friend, Marinette got up on her toes to whisper to Adrien, grabbing his arm to steady herself. “How can they be all destined for each other when they’ve already met? How is this a job for you?” she questioned.

“When strangers meet the person they’ve been looking for when they’re ready, then it usually clicks straight away. If they’ve known each other for a while by the time fate comes knocking, it’s not always that neat,” he answered. “Can you go find Alexis? I’ll keep Daphne here. It seems trite, but a little jealousy should be just the push they need.”

“Roger that,” she said, stepping past him with a little mock-salute. She darted past Thomas and Daphne, heading to the flat where she’d last seen him talking to someone on a couch.

Luckily, he was still there, and smiled up at her as she approached.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, Alexis. Do you mind if I borrow you for a bit?” she asked, holding out her hand and wiggling her fingers in request.

“Haha, sure. I’ll see you later, man,” he threw at the guy on the couch as Marinette pulled him out into the hall.

She stopped at the entry to the apartment from which the loud music pumped, and leant in to speak. “I need someone to dance with me!”

He shrugged with a smile, and let her take his other hand, pulling him this way and that as she swayed to the rhythm.

Normally, dancing with a friend is complete activity in and of itself, but she was anxious to catch a glimpse of Daphne or Adrien, to figure out if this was going to work. He hadn’t specified how jealous they were trying to make Daphne, or how flirtatious she had to be with Alexis to achieve it.

She let her dance partner twirl her, and managed to spy Adrien leaning against a wall, Daphne beside him with her arms crossed. He was looking at her, speaking, but she was looking in their direction.

Perfect.

Marinette let out an excited giggle and pulled out some ridiculous white-girl moves. Nothing too risqué, but a little hip wiggling with your hands on someone’s shoulders can get people riled up if they’re as invested as Daphne ought to be.

She pushed closer to talk into his ear again, which only made sense with the music as loud as it was.

“How long are you guys staying in Paris?” she asked.

“Until Friday,” he yelled back.

Before she could reply, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?” Daphne said, looking something between nervous and angry.

“Sure,” Marinette smiled, grinning like the cat that got the cream as he returned to where she had last seen that mop of blond hair sticking up above the crowd.

He looked blissed out where he was still propped up against the wall. If she didn’t know any better, she would have suspected him to have taken something.

“Do you think it worked?” she asked, receiving a lazy nod and slow blink as the only response. “Awesome. Then I’m going to go beat someone at Mario Kart. Coming?”

He only nodded again, so she dragged him into the lounge room where people were playing at the TV, depositing him in an armchair and declaring her intention to beat everyone in the room.

She knew a couple of the people sitting around, and they _oohed_ at the challenge. They would post her victory dance on Snapchat in a few minutes time.

The next two hours or so saw Marinette kick butt on the console, inhale about ten mini-quiches, win a hand of poker despite not understanding the rules, and have to go the bathroom twice. Adrien came down from his weird high after about half an hour, though he still looked luminously contented.

The pair of them were standing in a circle of people, playing a rhythm game where you had to ‘shoot’ other players and duck being shot in time with a clapped beat. No one was sober in the circle, and no one was doing terribly well at a game that required quick reflexes.

When a girl Marinette didn’t know suggested they make it interesting by removing an article of clothing with each loss, she and Adrien excused themselves from the game.

“Want to dance?” she asked as they wandered over to get a cup of punch.

He regarded her seriously.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “I’ve never danced before.”

She gasped dramatically, throwing back the punch in her cup before snatching his and draining that too.

“Well then! Tonight is the night, my fine, feathered friend,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows as she pulled him to the room with the cacophonously loud music.

A dance classic from 2009 was shaking the room and had the whole room jumping and writhing. She dragged him to the middle of the dancefloor, stepping in close. Pressed amongst at least forty people in a small room was warm, and she was quite tipsy by that point. Warm and giggly, she let the familiar beat hype her up, twisting and turning in time with the music.

Poor, angelic Adrien just stood there, apparently at a total loss. She threw her arms around his neck, still dancing, and pulled him down to listen to her.

“Just move in time with the beat. Whatever feels right, match the mood. Just have fun and let it show,” she instructed. “Or just try to copy me.”

He nodded, his hair tickling her face and his slightly stubbly cheek rubbing against her own smooth skin. She let him go, and he bobbed along to the music. She grabbed his hands and forced him to turn back and forth with her. When he finally seemed to be relaxing into it, the song was over and they were well into the next.

She stepped closer, either side of one of his legs, and placed the hands she had been holding on her hips instead. Placing her own around his neck, she met his gaze as she spun her hips and body-rolled with the best of them.

The carefree grins they had been wearing before were eroded by the slower, sexier beat. They held a steady, intense gaze as they danced, chests brushing against each other, and then hips bumping lightly, as they moved.

She bit her lips as a twist brought Adrien’s thigh into contact with her between her legs, and she wondered if she was brave enough to grind against him. With so much liquid courage running in her veins, the answer was probably yes.

In that moment, her phone started vibrating in her pocket.

She jumped, letting go of the man in her arms like he had electrocuted her. A text from Alya read: _Are we still on for tomorrow afternoon?_

 _Sure thing! I’ll bring Adrien if he’s free_ , she replied, before sliding her phone back into her pocket.

“I should probably head home about now. Do you want to come, or hang around a while longer?” she shouted.

He nodded and said something back, but she couldn’t hear what it was. When she started to walk away, though, he took her hand and followed, so she supposed he said he was coming.

They retrieved their coats, stopped to farewell people they met on the way out, and slowly made their way down the hall, back to the stairs.

She led the way through the door, smacking it open with a bang and marching through. As it clicked shut behind them, Adrien caught her arm.

She turned to face him, and where she stood at the top of the steps, her back was nearly pressed against the wall. He stood only a pace away, hand still curled around her bicep. Her heels didn’t bring her close to his eye level, and her head was angled up to meet his gaze.

He seemed to want to say something, but he just looked at her instead. She stared back.

The music from the hall still carried into the stairwell, echoing off the bare walls. The rapid beat coming from all around seemed like a magnification of her own heartbeat, leaping out of her chest and demanding attention.

Adrien’s green eyes bored into her own. She couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to. They were like emeralds, but contained a tempest within. He seemed conflicted, so, so undecided, like there were a million arguments to sort through in his head and he had no idea which he wanted to listen to.

Confusion flickered on his face, his brows twitching into a frown, which turned into something hungry. She wondered if she was projecting or if that was somewhere in the vicinity of lust.

Was lust a sin? She couldn’t remember. Was fornication? How about making out in a fire escape?

She licked her lips, tasting the sugar there from her last drink, and his eyes finally ripped away from hers to glance at her mouth. Her heart thudded more desperately, and the music around them pounded with greater passion.

He looked back into her eyes through his lashes, and stepped a little closer. His free hand brushed against the waist of her jacket, so lightly she barely felt it. She may not have, were her senses not completely on high alert and concentrated solely on him.

He frowned again, looking frustrated for second, but leant down to bring his face close to hers. He panted lightly, the air caressing her face where he had yet to make contact. His breath smelt like fruit, orange liqueur and something sweeter carried in the air.

She tilted her head slightly, and leant a smidgeon closer. She wanted to kiss him, _badly_ , and she could reach in their current position. She couldn’t know, though, what he was thinking. What was allowed.

Another breath, and his eyes were heavy-lidded as his drifted closer still. She let her own flutter shut, and was caught completely by surprise as the door burst open with an enormous bang, letting in the clamour of the party and the giggles of a pair of girls as they stepped through the doorway.

Marinette screamed in shock, and Adrien jumped back.

The girls froze, tittering apologies before scampering up the next flight, hand in hand.

They were gone in a second, but the spell was broken. The music that forced its way into the space was a grating dubstep track, and her angel looked dazed as he blinked down at her.

She tried not to let the frustrated and disappointed side of her take over, and instead let out a laugh.

“Let’s head home,” she said, her voice intentionally light and casual. She started down the stairs and heard him follow.

As much as she had wanted to kiss him in the moment, if she was thinking logically, she had to admit it was a bad idea. In a few days, he would be gone, and who knew how long it would be before he was in the same plane of existence as her again, let alone on the same part of the planet.

It was sad being separated from your friends, but so much worse when you were slightly in love with them. As it was, she would miss him when he was gone. There was no need to make things messier.

They were quiet on the way home, and said little before turning into bed.

“Good night, Adrien,” she said as she turned out the light.

“Sweet dreams, Marinette,” came the soft reply as she sank into her comfortable bed.


	7. Model

When Marinette awoke the next morning, she was thirsty and her mouth felt a little weird, but nothing too bad. She hadn’t had enough to drink such that she would have a hangover, or lose any of her memories of last night. It was almost a pity, because the allure of Drunk Adrien staring down at her like he wanted to do something unholy with her was not something easily set aside.

She stretched, rolled over, and then huffed in mild annoyance. She had the morning off and would have loved to sleep in a little longer, but she sensed she wouldn't get back to sleep.

She sat up, peering down at the main part of her room. Adrien was still (mostly) on the chaise, sound asleep. His feet stuck off the end and one of his arms lolled off the side. While it didn’t look terribly comfortable, he managed to make it look attractive somehow. There was just something about his long limbs and elegant lines that made everything he did look editorial.

She was beyond jealous.

She sneaked past him and into the living area below without waking him. She sat, eating a croissant and drinking orange juice, as she flicked through photos from last night. Friends looking cute, friends looking dumb, selfies with people she didn’t see as often as she would like, and a few of Adrien. Half asleep on the couch while she crushed it at Mario Kart, his first-ever attempt at Wii Tennis, an arty one she managed to snap of him looking off to the side of the shot and laughing at whatever someone had said. Her favourite was the last, of her, Adrien, Thomas and Isabella, just before they’d left the party. Adrien had pressed the side of his face against hers and had an arm around Isabella to pull her into the frame. He didn’t just look hot, or cute snuggled up to the two of them, but he looked like he belonged. He seemed to fit in so well with a group of normal young adults, it just didn’t seem fair that it couldn’t last.

Tomorrow, he would beam up to the pearly gates, and she would probably never see him again. She wondered if he would miss her too.

He emerged from her room, rubbing his face, as she was putting her plate in the dishwasher. He was wearing a different pair of boxers, the Minion shirt, and – to her amusement – one sock.

She was determined not to let the awkwardness of last night carry over into a new day.

“Morning,” she greeted brightly. “Hungry?”

“A bit, yeah,” he answered. He murmured a thankyou when she passed him a croissant and some jam, and dug in as she sat back down beside him.

“I’m going to have coffee with Alya later today. Do you want to come?” she asked.

He blinked, then broke into a smile. “Sounds fun, sure,” he agreed. Did he seem a little surprised that she would invite him after last night?

“Until then, I’m just going to hang around and work on some stuff for class. You’re welcome to keep me company,” she said, standing to go get dressed, giving him a pat on the shoulder she hoped came off as soothing and friendly instead of weird as she passed.

+++

She was sitting at her desk, referring to a diagram she had drawn a few days ago, trying to work out which way to pin a piece of fabric, when Adrien came back in. He collected some clothes and disappeared downstairs for about twenty minutes, returning smelling like flowers and looking scrumptious in tight blue jeans and a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and several buttons undone. She consciously chose not to sit and admire his exposed collarbones, giving him a smile and turning to the work in progress on her dressmaker’s mannequin.

“You can mess around on my computer if you want,” she said, gesturing at the other end of the long bench, where her computer sat. “I wouldn’t mind some music.”

He wandered over and began fiddling with it, hopefully having fun and staying out of her files.

After a while, Tchaikovsky started playing softly out of the synched speakers, and she smiled at his choice. What else would an angel of the Lord listen to? It would have been infinitely funnier if he’d picked Pitbull, though.

“So, can I ask,” she started, eyes still on the tulle she was trying to get to sit right on the model, “what actually constitutes a sin?”

“Not as many things as people seem to think,” he laughed. “Essentially, actions intended to cause harm to another, that will knowingly cause harm to another, or are driven by an excessive self-interest.”

“So, vices are actually fine?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Mostly. There’s nothing wrong with doing things that make you happy, or feel good, if you’re prepared to deal with the downsides,” he shrugged. Part of her noted that making out with people you had only known for a few days, then, should be fine. Although, it had seemed like he was going to kiss her last night, and he had said that he physically couldn’t do anything against the rules, so she probably could have worked that out on her own.

“There you have it. From the Lord’s mouthpiece directly,” she intoned. “If an angel told me so, I can do whatever I want.”

He laughed again.  “If it sounds more impressive, you could call me a god,” he mused.

“What?” she said flatly.

He spun on her swivel chair to face her directly.

“The term ‘angel’ isn’t that accurate. Like I told you, I don’t really fit the blueprint from the Bible or anything else,” he shrugged. “Maybe I’m more like a Greek deity. They were represented with much more complex motivations, personalities, and personally manifested physically to meddle on a case-by-case basis. God, angel, Heaven, they’re all just words for concepts that are the closest things humans can imagine to a reality beyond their view.”

“Fair point,” she said, blinking bemusedly. “While we’re on the topic, how do you come to be? Like do angels… reproduce like normal people?” She cringed slightly at the awkward way she posed the question, but she was sincerely curious.

He shook his head. “When I said that angels have bodies that work the same as yours, there are some exceptions. That’s one of them. We’re sort of… between life and death, so we can’t create new life ourselves. Angels never have children, but we are all born.”

“Oh, man, tell me this is not going to get horrifying,” she groaned. She had a terrifying vision of some kind of giant bug/woman/goddess laying eggs that all turned into sexy young men.

“Depends on your sensibilities,” he grimaced. She braced herself for a vivid description of his larval stage. “Human children are born with a whole soul, and one that is totally pure. The energy inside an adult is kind of polluted and tangled from all the desires and sins and good deeds they’ve done, but a child is a beacon of untapped energy. In the first few days of its life, a baby is still kind of tied to Heaven, to the place from which its soul was given life.”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense,” she said slowly.

“Children who don’t live more than a few days don’t pass on to the afterlife, whatever that’s like,” he said sombrely. “Their body may die, but they have enough raw energy to stay this side of the veil. Those babies go to our side of Heaven, instead, and live however long their human life could have been watching over Earth.”

Marinette was transfixed. She stared at him, tears welling up in her wide eyes. “So, you… you were…” she trailed off, but he nodded sadly.

“In another life, I was human, just like you,” he said softly.

She got to her feet a little shakily, crossed the room, and pulled his head to her chest. She embraced him softly, gently rubbing his back. He didn’t react for a few seconds, but then curled his arms around her waist and held her tightly to him.

“Do all angels look twenty-something?” she asked quietly after a while, living out a fantasy and stroking his thick, silky hair.

He laughed a little wetly, muffled slightly but the fabric of her oversized shirt.

“No. We start off as cherubs, and we age at the same rate as mortals. We get our assignment at approximately fifteen, and I’ve been a cupid for nearly seven years, now,” he answered.

“We’re the same age,” she commented idly, not knowing what else to say.

She held him for a while longer, running her fingers through his golden hair, not saying anything. Eventually she pulled back, not leaving his arms, but placed her hands, inside the floppy sleeves of her baggy top, on the sides of his face.

“You have to be strong, and such a beautiful person, to spend your whole life making other people happy, Adrien,” she said earnestly, eyes locked on his. “And I guess you won’t talk to many people who know what you do for them, so I have to speak for everyone. Thank you. Really. Thank you.”

He beamed up at her, seeming touched by her speech. “Glad I could be of service,” he said chipperly, but she could tell he meant it.

She wiggled his head gently with her sleeve-paws, then stepped away from him.

“Now, grab a jacket, and let’s go get caffeinated,” she said.

 She slipped a transparent rain coat on over her shirt and tartan skirt, zipping into red ankle boots, grabbed her purse and phone, and then raced Adrien downstairs. The sky was thick with dark grey cloud, but it wasn’t raining yet, and the weather held for the ten minutes it took them to reach the café.

When they arrived, her best friend was already there, tapping away at her phone. She wore a huge, peach-coloured, fluffy knitted jumper that ended where her black high-waisted jeans began, with black rain boots the only concession to the impending deluge. Her hair was coaxed into a bun on top of her head, and for as long as she stayed dry, she looked not only like a bombshell, but very cosy.

Marinette bounced over and kissed her cheeks, before stepping aside to let Adrien do the same.

“This is Adrien,” she said, a little unnecessarily, since she already knew what he looked like. “Adrien, this is Alya.” Again: he’d seen pictures.

He smiled at her as he took a seat, and though her own smile was knowing and smug, Marinette swore his pure demeanour had softened even intrepid reporter Alya Césaire a little.

“What’s new with you?” Alya directed at Marinette.

“I’m finally about done with a jacket for my costume class and I’m so happy with the way it’s turned out,” she sighed. “It was worth all the heartache doing the beading. So much beading.”

“Your size?” Alya checked.

“I wish,” she pouted. “It’s a men’s piece. Tragically.”

 _“Pardon, monsieur, mesdemoiselles, qu’est-ce que vous aimeriez?”_ came the polite voice of the waiter from beside their table.

They placed their orders and chatted about assignments, mutual friends, things that had happened at the party last night, and the latest episode of a TV show Adrien had obviously never seen.

While Alya dug through her bag for her phone in order to show them an Instagram post, Marinette leant over to whisper to Adrien.

“Would you actually be willing to pose for Alya’s weird photography assignment?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged. “If she’s struggling to find someone, I’d like to help.”

“Hey Alya,” she said more loudly. “How’s the photography project going?”

“Ugh, don’t even ask. No one will pose for me, and it’s due on Monday,” she complained. It was clearly a sore spot. She raked her fingers through her hair, slumping forward onto the table.

“What are you doing after this?” Marinette asked, slow smile spreading across her face.

“Studying at home, probably. Why?” Alya narrowed her eyes.

“I may, or may not, have found you a warm body for your assignment. Available one afternoon only, though, I’m afraid.”

“What? Who?” she gasped, clapping excitedly.

With a laugh, Marinette threw an arm around Adrien’s shoulders and gestured to his face like a game show girl showing off a prize.

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much, Adrien!” she cheered, jumping up to hug him roughly from behind. “Can we go now?”

Adrien nodded with a surprised laugh, and the three of them took off immediately for Alya’s apartment.

+++

As Alya led them into her bedroom, she explained the brief.

“Essentially, the assignment is a set of portraits. If that were it, it would be easy enough. And I’d probably have had an easier time finding someone to sit for me. The catch is, we’re supposed to use ‘unconventional materials’ to tell the story, create the emotion, whatever,” she said.

All her furniture had been pushed to the window-side of the room, leaving the opposite wall unobscured, presumably to serve as her canvas. It gave the normally cosy room which always looked slightly messy in a comfortable, cute way, a strange feeling. Utter chaos on one side, uninhabited on the other.

Alya began shifting around in a pile of shopping bags in the corner of the room, the rustling failing to discourage her from talking.

“We have to demonstrate manipulation of elements and principles, which you, Mari, probably know all about,” she continued, sorting the apparently random items into piles.  “I want to focus on colour, contrast, and texture.”

Satisfied with her piles, Alya bustled over to her closet and rifled around until she produced her tripod and camera, which she began to set up.

“Have you got an exact plan of each shot, or just a rough idea?” Marinette asked, throwing her back and raincoat on the bed and plopping down on the floral covers to watch.

“Little of column A, little of column B,” she replied distractedly. “It’s good to stay flexible.”

Once she was finished with her setup, she put her hands on her hips and looked at Adrien.

“Okay. Have you ever modelled before?” she asked.

“Er, no.”

“Are you ticklish?”

“I don’t really know, particularly,” he frowned, looking like a confused puppy in a way that made Marinette want to coo and pat his head.

“Much body hair?” she asked speculatively.

“Alya! What’s with the interrogation?” Marinette jumped in, taking pity on Adrien.

The photographer blew a lock of hair out of her eyes as she tossed a dismissive look over her shoulder. “He’s going to be a horror to paint if he’s ticklish, and I need to know how ugly it’s going to get if I try to use sticky tape on him,” she said, as though it were obvious.

She held her hands up in surrender, and Alya turned back to her human, or almost-human, canvas.

“Alright. My first concept is all about crazy overcrowding, an explosion of colour and texture,” she said. “So basically, we’re going to cover you in a huge pile of random crap.”

“Sounds great,” he laughed.

“Do you mind taking your shirt off?” she asked, already looking through the biggest pile on the floor.

He blinked, taken aback at the request, but shrugged and complied. He unlooped the scarf around his neck, slid out of his jacket, and tossed them both onto her bed. Marinette couldn’t help but stare as he slowly wandered towards her, looking down as he untucked and unbuttoned his white shirt. He shucked out of it, tossing it onto the bed as well, and she wanted to faint. His body was lean, she could tell through his clothes, but the chiselled definition in his form was unexpected. Arms, abs, the lot. He was slim and sexy and looking at her with a weird expression on his face that might mean he had noticed she was practically drooling.

“Woah,” Alya said. “Didn’t expect that.” She was looking at Adrien from behind, gesturing broadly at him with her eyebrows raised.

Marinette assumed she meant his physique until he turned to face the other girl, revealing his back to her gaze. Was it a good-looking back? Yes. Did he have that gorgeous thing going on with his shoulder blades where they stuck out but had a thing of muscle across them? Yes. Was that the main thing that drew the eye? Not even close.

In the darkest black ink she had ever seen on skin, he had an enormous pair of folded wings tattooed on his back. The tops came right up to where his shoulders sloped towards his neck, and the feathered tips were well hidden below the waistband of his jeans. They were rendered in gorgeous detail, the line work on the feathers a thing of beauty.

After the initial surprise, she was confused. He had said he had wings, and she supposed these could be they. But how was a tattoo going to let him fly? She couldn’t wait to get him alone and ask about them.

“Oh, yeah. Is that going to be a problem?” he grimaced, rubbing his side where a few feathers curled around his ribs self-consciously.

“No, not at all. You just don’t seem the type to have intense body art, I don’t know,” Alya shrugged. “It’s amazing though. So well done.”

Adrien ducked his head in thanks for the compliment but didn’t reply.

“Okay, I’ll get you to stand over by the wall, and Mari, if you can help me over here…” she instructed, fiddling with a roll of regular sticky tape. “We’ll try just sticking it to him and seeing how it looks.”

She handed her a roll of tape, and the pair of them set to covering his body in the eclectic collection of tat. There were naked Barbie dolls with their hair frizzy and badly modified, chocolate bars, a teddy bear, a set of plastic play cutlery, feathers, crumpled balls of paper, and a million other things. They used seven spools of tape to attach it all to his body, arms, neck and the top of his pants.

When they finished, they both stepped back to admire their handiwork.

“Wow,” Alya said. “It actually looks pretty good. Crazy, but that’s what I’m going for.”

“I think,” Marinette said slowly, tapping her chin in thought as she eyed him, “that we should tie his hair back, nice and sleek, to contrast the rest of him. Let you actually see his face.”

Alya nodded, passing her a hair tie from her wrist.

Marinette stood behind him, running her hands through his thick tresses, smoothing out the bumps before tying it tightly in a short ponytail at the back of his head. She was pleased with the effect, exposing his enviable cheekbones and entrancing eyes.

“Okay, Adrien, look up at the corner of the room for me,” Alya said, tinkering with the settings to get the focus right. She snapped a few photos before pursing her lips and looking around the room. “I think bringing in more light from the left would cast better shadows on the junk.”

They set up a lamp, drew the curtains halfway, and Marinette stood out of shot shining a torch on a large piece of white paper to bounce soft light onto his other side. Adrien played his part perfectly, patiently maintaining his brooding expression at the plain blue curtains for what seemed like a million snaps of the shutter. He looked artistically bored and slouchy at the lampshade, smirked at a closed door, and pretended to laugh at thin air like a champion.

At long last, Alya declared that phase of the project complete, and the three of them snipped and ripped the tape and clutter off him. He was remarkably smooth, though a few patches of skin were a bit red by the time he was freed.

“What next?” Adrien asked.

“Contrast. I have black and red body paint, and I want to get some closer shots. Head and shoulders, not your body,” she said. She glanced at Marinette, better known for her drawing and painting than Alya. “Any ideas? I thought we could paint half his face in each, but that’s kind of boring.”

She thought for a while, eyes flicking over his face, until inspiration struck. “How about we paint his lips black, and put a red lip mark on his cheek, and maybe like a hand mark here,” she suggested, gesturing animatedly at his jaw.

“I like it,” Alya grinned.

“How about one of my hands in black in shot, too,” he added.

“I love it!” she exclaimed, cracking open the black body paint.

Marinette took a cheap paint brush they had pulled off Adrien and dipped it in the black, frowning when the greasy mass refused to stick to the brush. With a shrug, she dipped her finger in, scooping up a dollop, and carefully ran it over his bottom lip. She kept her eyes on what she was doing, ignoring the feeling of his smooth skin gliding under her finger, and refusing to meet the eyes she could feel on her face. He let his mouth fall open slightly as she carefully smeared the paint along his upper lip, keeping it as neatly within the border of his lip as possible. His breath slipped over her fingers, and she wanted to get closer still.

“Let’s do the red,” Alya said, spinning her by the shoulder to wipe the red on her lips. She wiped her hand clean of black, only to have the whole of her palm and fingers slathered in the bright red goo.

Alya took up her approximate position, looking through the viewfinder at her model, perched on the stool she had supplied.  

“Where do you want the hand?” Marinette asked, reaching across his shirtless body to hold her slimy hand near his cheek on the far side.

Alya placed her hand on her own jaw in demonstration. “Like this? Like, fingers on the cheek, palm half on the neck. Not too far back. Yeah, about there,” she said.

Marinette pressed her hand to his jaw, bracing his face gently as she kissed his other cheek. She left her mouth slightly open to emphasise the lip imprint. Pulling back carefully, she examined the marks. They were quite clearly recognisable, her fingers and lips clearly marking how he had been touched.

“Perfect!” Alya enthused as Marinette scraped the muck off herself with a paper towel. “Can you do his whole hand black?”

She glopped a large blob of the black paint onto his hand, which he rubbed all over his hands and down his wrist. Once Alya was ready, he took up a pose leaning on his hand, looking off to the side and rolling his eyes dejectedly. She experimented with the focus and took about twenty photos that were all fairly similar. They lit him evenly, with only enough shadow to show the details of his features off, in order to keep the focus on the narrative they were trying to create with the paint.

Much sooner than last time, Alya declared that she had the shots she needed, and dismissed him to rinse off in the bathroom. He must have passed Alya’s sister Eliza on the way, because the twelve-year-old gawked into the room as she walked by a minute later.

“So, we’ve had texture and contrast,” Marinette said. “What’s for colour?”

“Well, we have two options. First, I bought a bunch of streamers, and thought I’d just drape them all over, but it felt really lacklustre with the other concepts,” she wrinkled her nose. “So, I got a bunch of cheap cakes with colourful buttercream…”

“Oh my God.”

“I also want it to be a full-body portrait. Really, how do you think your boy-toy would feel about being naked with nothing but a party hat to cover his dignity?” she laughed, but in case Marinette thought she was joking, held up a six pack of conical hats with ‘Happy Birthday’ printed on them in English. The holographic purple design mocked her.

She looked away, cringing, only to see Adrien standing dubiously in the doorframe.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” she assured him before the cajoling could start from Alya.

“Of course,” she agreed, but looked like she wanted to convince him to do it either way.

He approached, taking the bag of hats and turning it over in his hand. “I think it’s a good idea. I’m just not sure if it would work,” he said thoughtfully. Marinette flushed redder than a fire engine at the thought. “I could try, I guess.”

“Adrien, you’re the best. You want us to leave for a bit?” she offered with a grateful smile.

He shook his head. “You can just turn around or look away, if you want,” he said, already ripping open the packet.

They both stood with their back to him, Marinette with her eyes screwed shut and a sweat building up on her brow. She tried not to focus on the shuffling of clothes behind her, but rather against her will she mentally tracked his process as he removed his jeans and dropped them on the floor, followed by what sounded like briefs. The experimental twanging of elastic, the slide of flesh against cardboard.

“I’m decent, I suppose,” he said doubtfully, and Alya turned to get a look.

Immediately, she burst out laughing, and Marinette tweaked one eye open, then the other, though she still rigidly faced away. Until her friend grabbed her and roughly spun her around. He had managed to get his junk to sit inside the party hat, which stood to attention in a bizarre parody of the male form. If he weren’t standing there in his birthday suit, she might have been able to muster more than a strangled squawk of a laugh.

“Can you take his hair out, Mari?” Alya asked too casually, while she busied herself with the supermarket birthday cakes and the crappy buttercream decorations.

She approached him nervously, trying to look like she wasn’t nearly overcome with an unpleasant cocktail of mortification, amusement, and attraction. She edged behind him, her conscious efforts not to look at his butt driving her to do it anyway. She gently pulled out the elastic and fluffed out his hair. She stood in front of him, making sure she didn’t bump the party hat, and ruffled his hair. It easily submitted to sitting perfectly as ever.

Making sure the drop-sheet she had put down was going to limit the mess, Alya handed Marinette a large blue monstrosity of food colouring and stale vanilla sponge, holding a tray of pink-iced cupcakes herself.

“May we?” she grinned maniacally.

 _“Mais oui,”_ he laughed.

Marinette slammed the ugly cake over his heart, pressing the plastic platter against him and rubbing it in. Most of the cake fell off, but chunks stuck in the icing to his bronzed skin.

Alya was, unsurprisingly, less shy about it, down on her knees to smear crushed cupcake down his thigh.

Marinette had to admit it was fun, like a one-way food fight, and reached for a set of assorted-colour cupcakes of her own. She smashed them down his arm, his stomach, his hip, giving into the absurdity and hilarity of it all.

He laughed with them as their fingers smeared lines through the sugary mess. Alya pressed a cake to the side of his head, more gently than the rest, for good measure. She ducked out of the room to wash her hands, and the remaining two looked at one another.

On a crazy whim, and perhaps to try to get him back since he apparently had no qualms nearly giving her a heart attack by standing around naked for her to touch, she darted forward and licked a bit of chocolate icing off his collarbone. She crunched on rainbow hundreds and thousands as he gawked at her. Nudity? Didn’t bother him. Harmless little tongue action? Apparently short-circuited the boy.

With a giggle, she reached up and ran two fingers along his clavicle, covering the patch of missing icing. He watched her with a gaze that felt heavy on her skin, but the smile wouldn’t run off her lips.

Alya returned and the two of them set up bright lighting, using several lamps and a roll of foil to bounce it around further. They experimented with cellophane to tint the lighting as Adrien posed languidly, stretching out his long form and running his hand through his hair and spreading buttercream through the length. For some of the shots, Alya placed a second party hat on his head.

“Thank you so much, both of you, for all your help,” Alya said, putting her camera down at last. “I was so worried about how this was going to go but these photos are incredible. You should totally come to the little expo thing the photography classes put on at the end of semester.”

“It was fun, for me at least,” Marinette smiled.

“Same, though I am getting quite cold,” Adrien added. “Can I rinse off in your shower?”

“Go ahead,” Alya replied with a bow and flourish toward the door. Adrien gingerly picked up his pants and underwear in an effort not to smear them with the icing that covered most of his body, held his party hat in place, and carefully left the room. As soon as he was gone, she turned to Marinette with an excited expression.

“Oh my God, he’s so nice, and sooo hot,” she gushed in a whisper. “Are you seriously not tapping that? Because you should be tapping that. No, you should be making tender love to that boy. He’s so cute.” She was squealing in delight at the mere thought of two people so good and sweet together.

“Yes, he’s cute and an amazing person, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go out with him. You know he’s… going through some stuff right now,” Marinette frowned, trying to avoid lying but unable to really tell the truth. “It wouldn’t be a good idea to pursue him right now. He just needs a friend.”

Alya looked unimpressed. “You can be someone’s friend and their significant other. I know how good you would be to him, and you wouldn’t be adding drama, so you wouldn’t be making anything worse,” she argued.

“Look, he might be leaving Paris soon, to go live with, uh, family, so I can hardly start dating him now,” Marinette replied, arms across her chest defensively. She wanted to be closer to Adrien, and she didn’t want him to leave, but she wasn’t going to get what she wanted on either count. “Who knows the next time he’ll be in town?”

She let Alya pat her head consolingly and wrap her in a hug as she sulked for a minute. They broke apart as Adrien came back. His hair was wet and pushed back from his face, and his body was glistening with water droplets in a way that had them both ogling his six pack. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he casually walked over to the bed and nonchalantly put on the rest of his clothes.

“Do you need any help cleaning up?” he asked, gesturing to the piles of toys and crumbs on the floor.

Alya shook her head. “I’ll get my sister to help me when she gets home, but right now I have to do a bit of work on a group assignment,” she said. “I’ll see you guys soon, though, yeah? I’ll buy you drinks, Adrien, for getting naked for my art.”

They said their farewells and headed out into the cold.

“Thank you again for doing that,” Marinette said softly, looking up at him a little shyly. It was weird having been so close to him while he was so exposed, and now he was fully dressed but she knew what it was like to run her fingers over his bare, toned stomach. How was his anything toned? Was he doing crunches with St Peter?

“I enjoyed it,” he smiled. “Plus, I like the idea of leaving something behind, after tomorrow. Usually, I’m sure it’s like I was never there. This time, I’d like to think I’ll be remembered in some way.”

“I’ll remember you,” she blurted out, making his drop his bittersweet smile to stare at her. “I promise I’ll never forget you. My friends that you’ve met, they will remember you. Maybe they won’t think of you often after a while, because that’s how it goes. But I’ll always remember.”

He listened to her passionate speech with a shocked expression, both of them having come to a stop on the footpath. Then his face softened, and he looked like he might cry. He stepped forward and folded her into his arms.

“Thank you, Marinette,” he said gently, his face bent into the crook of her neck and his lower lip just barely brushing the skin below her ear as he spoke. “I know I’ll always treasure your friendship and the kindness you’ve shown me.”

She squeezed him around his middle as he sniffled slightly.

“Do you think you can come back and visit me?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I’ve never come to Earth without having been sent, and I don’t even know if I can come by my own choice. But if I ever can, I promise I will.”

“I hope you can,” she said.

They clung to each other until the first few fat droplets of rain landed on them, at which point she grabbed his hand and pulled him through the streets at a run the whole way back to the bakery.

Though her raincoat had kept her mostly dry, Adrien was wet and chilled to the bone. She led him upstairs immediately to change.

He snagged black jeans, the t-shirt she had given him and his zip jumper, and promptly started stripping off his wet clothes. Marinette squeaked and spun to face away.

“How come it doesn’t bother you at all to have people see you practically naked?” she asked, hating the heat she could feel in her cheeks.

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered as the sounds of his dressing continued. “A body is just something you can use. You can decorate it, feel with it… it’s kind of like a fancy tool. I don’t usually have one quite like this, so all the human ideas and customs about being private with your body are a bit foreign to me. I know it’s weird to be undressed in public, but it’s not my nature to be embarrassed at someone seeing my physical vessel.”

She turned slowly around as she heard him buckle his belt. “I guess that makes sense,” she allowed. “But does that mean I get to see your wings?”

At that he froze.

“Well, that’s a bit of a different issue. It’s not about prudishness, it’s just that they’re not quite physical, and half made of Heaven’s energy. We’re not supposed to show them off to mortals without a good reason,” he frowned. “But since you already know about me…”

She held her breath as he considered her request. With a shrug, he turned his back to her, still shirtless, exposing his large tattoos. Cool, yes. Awesome in the biblical sense? Not quite.

Then they moved.

The tattoos _moved_ on his skin, the lines of ink sliding smoothly as the wings unfurled. For a second, they just expanded out, their outline moving over his arms and around his front, out of her sight. Then, they somehow escaped their two-dimensional bounds with a fizzle of energy that snapped through the air and made the hairs on her arms stand up, like a tiny, local lightning strike.

Suddenly, a pair of large, feathered black wings curved up from his back, rooted either side of his spine, between and slightly below his shoulder blades. They were curved around to his front almost protectively, but as she watched in utterly dumbstruck awe, he stretched them out as wide as they would go, then folded them more comfortably to rest behind him. The feathers were black but gleamed like a raven’s, a glossy green sheen coming off the feathers where the light hit them.

He turned to face her, watching her reaction. She had no idea what he saw on her face, because the entirety of her brain’s computer power was being devoted to comprehending what she saw before her.

Adrien looked like a normal person, until now. This was the first real proof she had that he was who he said he was, instead of the local mental hospital’s sexiest escapee. It was truly mind-blowing to witness the huge additional limbs move as fluidly and casually as his arms.

“Wow,” she finally managed. “That’s… wow.”

His left wing twitched, flicking as he crossed his arms uncomfortably. “What are you thinking?” he asked with an uneasy look.

She looked at his expression, and realised he was nervous at her potential reaction.

“That this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, or probably will ever see again,” she said honestly, edging a little closer to get a better look.

He relaxed somewhat, and extended a wing for her inspection, in the same way one would hold out a hand to show someone what was drawn on the back.

“Can I touch?” she breathed, finger already extended to brush against the feathers.

“Of course,” he replied, oh so quietly, not breaking the fragile peace in the room.

She brushed her fingertip gently as possible along the top edge. She was almost surprised to find that it had the same stiff yet smooth texture as feathers that occasionally lay on the ground in parks. Stepping in closer to his body, she brushed a hand down the inside of the wing, close to where it sung into his back, giggling softly at the downy texture of the smaller feathers there. He smiled at her, and the large wing stretched wide again under her hand.

She marvelled at the scale of them. His wingspan was twice that of his arms, which were already long enough due to of his height.

“Want a little demonstration?” he asked. She nodded eagerly and took a few steps back.

He bunched his wings in, and then flapped a few times quickly, lifting into the air until he hit the ceiling, absorbing the impact with his arms. He tipped forward, swooping back down and landing into a somersault. He stood and smiled at her, where she gaped with a dopey open-mouthed grin.

“That is so cool,” she laughed. “Even if it’s less like the angels you see on Christmas cards and more like a bird.”

“How do angels on cards fly?” he frowned.

“I don’t know, they sort of majestically flap and hover and austerely deliver their glad tidings,” she shrugged, earning a derisive snort from him.

He snorted. “Wings like this don’t _do_ hovering. If we were going to defy the laws of physics and float around, why bother with these in the first place?” he rolled his eyes, jerking a thumb behind him.

“Touché,” she said, raising her hands in surrender.

He wrapped his wings around his body, and then with another snap of electricity in the air, they collapsed into two-dimensional lines running over skin until they settled into place behind his back. He pulled on his shirt and jumper and flopped down to recline on the chaise.

“So, what time do you have to be at a church tomorrow?” she asked, her brow creasing.

He stretched his arms and squirmed around to get comfy. “Sunset,” he said. He pulled out his phone to tap for a few seconds before adding, “Twelve past six.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll be done with my shift at the bakery then, so we could go to Notre Dame? It doesn’t close until late, and you said that the more people worshipped there, the better,” she suggested.

“Sounds great,” he said, closing his eyes and sinking into the cushions. “I’m going to miss this. This body, this city, being a part of life here for once.”

She sighed, looking down at his long form, his angular face with damp locks of hair stuck to the skin. She was going to miss him too. There was nothing that she could do or say about it, though. Normally, when Marinette didn’t like something, she set about changing it, working for a situation that she could be happy with. This one was well and truly out of her hands.

Unable to offer any words of consolation, she threw herself down into her computer chair and opened up an essay she was working on for a History of Design unit.

While she read a dry chapter about silhouettes of men’s suits in the 20s, her phone started buzzing and blaring its twinkling ringtone from inside her bag. She dived for it and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl. Nino just invited me to a Facebook event for a club night ‘cause he’s the DJ for one of the rooms,” Alya said. “I’m going to go. It’s this Friday night – are you in? Bring Adrien.”

“I’m definitely in, but Adrien is catching the train tomorrow night out of Paris to go stay with relatives somewhere,” she said, throwing a glance his way. His eyes were closed, but she suspected he was listening.

“What? No way! I love him, he’s not ditching us already,” Alya cried. “This is such a bummer, he would have been such a good addition to the crew.”

“I know, but he has to do what he has to do,” she said, tone bleak.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell him I want to see him soon, though, and that he should move back ASAP and hang with all of us,” Alya demanded. “Also, _bon voyage_.”

“I’ll tell him. Link me on Messenger to the event.”

“Sure thing. See you soon,” Alya grumbled.

“See you.” She hung up, and related Alya’s messages. Adrien gave a lopsided, lazy smile and nodded, but offered no reply.

She turned her attention back to her computer until her maman appeared through the open trapdoor.

“Dinner is ready,” she said, and the two of them heaved themselves to their feet to follow her downstairs.

At dinner they talked about the news, Alya’s photoshoot, and some of the happenings from the bakery that day. Afterwards, the four of them passed an hour or so playing video games. When they played teams, Marinette teamed with Adrien, since he had virtually no experience, and her parents joined forces, even though her mother wasn’t often keen to play. They were about evenly matched.

Eventually their soirée broke up as her parents always went to sleep relatively early in order to be up in time to open the shop. Her father bid them goodnight and Adrien disappeared to take a shower.

Sabine motioned her daughter to sit beside her on the sofa.

“Adrien is very charming, and we want to let you know that in any respect that you need our approval, you have it,” she said softly, smiling sweetly when Marinette started stuttering out a reply. “I won’t say anything to him, I don’t want to put any kind of pressure on you two, but I can tell that you like each other very much, and I think you would be very good together. He’s more than a pretty face, which I worried at first, and I think you can give him more than what he’s missing.”

“Maman, we’re not…” she started, but Sabine just patted her hand.

“Don’t worry, Marinette, I’m not asking you to tell me anything that you don’t want to, and I know these things take time to work out,” she comforted.

“No, that’s not the problem,” she said. “Adrien is leaving tomorrow. He’s going to go live with some family, ages away from Paris. We probably won’t see him for a fair while.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry to hear that,” she frowned. “Well, he’ll always be welcome to stay here when he comes to visit. Your papa and I would be glad to see him.” She patted Marinette’s cheek soothingly, and then left her alone.

With a sigh, she heaved herself off the couch and headed upstairs to get ready for bed.


	8. Medic

Marinette was awakened by a thud, the sound of something heavy landing on carpet. She was pulled out of her dreams – something about being lost in Italy but her high school maths teacher had been there – and into the real world.

Sitting upright, she glanced around for the source of the noise. A look down at the main part of her room revealed it to be Adrien, looking dismayed as he lay face-down on the floor, his feet tangled in blankets and still on the chaise. He made no effort to escape his bounds.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she rubbed her eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled into the carpet.

She consulted the watch that rested on her bedside table. Eight thirty am. Earlier than she planned to be up, but not by enough to bother going back to sleep and risking facing her weird dream again.

She padded over to Adrien and pulled the blanket off him. He grunted in acknowledgement, but still didn’t move. She poked him in the ribs with a toe, and at last he rolled onto his back to get away from her.

“Good morning,” he yawned from his spot on the floor.

“It would be, if you hadn’t woken me up,” she scowled, before breaking into a smile. She couldn’t even pretend to be mad at him. She extended a hand and pulled him to his feet, leading him down to the kitchen.

She plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it as she looked around for the bag of leftover stock from the day before for something sweet and bready.

“We need bread,” she said, trying not to spit juice at him. “Hang on.”

She ducked out the door to the apartment, and tiptoed down the stairs, and stuck her head through the internal-access door to the bakery. From the top of the metal spiral staircase, she could see there were several customers in the shop but none at the counter.

“Maman,” she hissed. She hoped she heard, because she really didn’t want to waltz into the shop in her pyjamas. Never mind it was much warmer in the shop than the plain and somewhat breezy hallways between apartments. “Maman!”

Sabine looked up in surprise. “Marinette? What are you doing?” she asked bemusedly.

“Can I have a chinois or something? I can’t find any leftover bread,” she said.

“Oh, I think the bag of old stock is in the back. I’ll bring some up in two minutes,” she said before she turned to serve a customer.

Marinette would have stuck around to save her mother the extra trip, but was seriously underdressed to be outside their homey living room. She took the stairs two at a time up to their floor. When she re-entered the room, Adrien was leaning against the counter, drinking a glass of water. He must have found it warm enough since he had made no effort to put on anything other than the underwear he had slept in. The morning light flooded the room, catching in his fair hair and washing his bronzed skin in buttery sunlight. The curve of his spine and the relaxed set of his shoulders as he casually propped himself on the counter begged her to copy them onto paper. She couldn’t resist snatching her phone from where it lay charging on the benchtop and snapping a quick photo. The arch of his neck as he threw back the last of his water was elegant and the essence of motion captured in a stationary image. She was going to turn it into an excellent drawing for her still life folio assignment.

He threw her a confused look, eyes flitting between her and her phone, but she just grinned and set it down. He shrugged and didn’t ask.

“You’re quiet today,” she observed.

He shrugged and set his glass down.

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

He huffed a laugh. “Fine, sorry,” he rolled his eyes. “I guess I just don’t have much to say. I’ve been here longer than I should have, but that has only made it a thousand times harder to leave.”

She stepped closer to pat his upper arm in comfort, only realising as she reached out that it was a bit weird when someone was practically naked, but followed through. He smiled at her, a little sadly, but it still felt like the sun was aiming right at her the way it had when he first looked her way. The sun was just behind a few clouds.

She decided to throw propriety out to window and hug him anyway. His arms came around her immediately, one around her shoulders and the other hand digging into her hair. Being so much shorter than him, her face was pressed into his naked chest, and she could feel their exposed legs touching. Her large t-shirt fell off one shoulder and left her arms uncovered, and she could feel so much of him against her bare skin she thought she might explode.

He sighed and rested his chin on top of her head, squeezing her tighter for a moment. She found the courage to rub her hand calmingly against his back. Or she tried. She was tentative enough that she really just caressed his spine with her fingertips. He shivered.

The front door opened, and Sabine walked in. Her eyes widened as she took in their embrace, Adrien’s state of undress, the imposing ‘tattoo’ that spanned his entire back and edged onto his ribs and shoulders. Marinette was already blushing, but managed to flush harder when her mother met her gaze.

She was the first to unfreeze, giving a muffled scoff of laughter, dropping the bag on the bench, and leaving immediately.

Neither of them moved for a moment. It then occurred to her that it may not occur to Adrien that there was anything embarrassing about the situation, and that his mind had probably not turned down the same track as her own. She turned her face into his chest and let out a frustrated groan. He chuckled and ruffled her hair.

“What?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

“Nothing,” she said. Then she started beating her forehead against him. He started laughing in earnest, and despite the beauty of the joyful sound, she broke away from him and refused to look at him as she stepped around him to retrieve the bag her mother had brought. She kept her chin up high as she walked to the cutting board to peruse the selection.

“What?” he repeated, grinning.

She made no reply, pulling out a large, round loaf of brioche and inspecting it studiously.

“What? Marinette?” he laughed.

She ignored him as she opened a drawer and pulled out a serrated knife to cut herself a wedge of the bread. She did such a good job of not paying him any attention that she genuinely didn’t notice him sneak up behind her.

“What is it, Mari?” he murmured right next to her ear, breath running hotly down the side of her neck and across her exposed shoulder.

In his defence, he had probably never been taught kitchen safety and never to surprise anyone with a knife in their hand, nor did he expect her to react so violently.

She jumped, letting out a high-pitched scream, and dropped the large knife that was poised to cut her breakfast. Clattering off the edge of the counter, it fell to the ground, taking a deep gouge across the top of her foot.

She yelled much louder at that.

Gasping through gritted teeth as blood began running out of the wound, she fell back into Adrien. He made a noise of consternation and picked her up, placing her on the kitchen island behind him.

She had her eyes firmly scrunched shut, sure that it was bad enough that she didn’t want to look. She clenched her fists in pain and tried to breathe evenly.

“Okay I’m going to need bandages, they’re in the second drawer in the main bathroom,” she said.

“It’s alright, Marinette, just try to relax,” he shushed her, his voice deep and calm. “I can fix it. Don’t worry.”

“What do you mean don’t worry?” she said, her voice rising in volume. He simply made a soft shooshing noise.

He took her foot gently in his hand, then placed the other over the deep cut. Immediately, her skin under his hand felt warm, getting hotter, and though her eyes were still closed, she could see a bright light through her eyelids.

The heat and the light faded after a moment, and her eyes fluttered open. Adrien opened his own, and met her gaze, a peaceful grin spreading over his face.

The pain was gone.

She frowned down at the foot he still held aloft. He lifted the hand that covered it, and though it ought to have been smeared with her blood, it was clean. As was her skin. The cut had healed completely.

She gaped down at the unblemished skin for a long time.

“Did… did you just…?” she stammered after a lengthy silence.

“Perform a miracle? Yeah,” he smiled, looking suddenly shy. “It was my fault. I’m sorry. You can stab me in the foot if it will make you feel better.”

“It really wouldn’t,” she said sceptically. “Besides, didn’t you say you can’t feel pain or something?”

“Not exactly,” he corrected. “I can feel pain while something painful is happening, but my body can’t be damaged, so it doesn’t last.”

“Can I, um, scratch you?” she asked awkwardly, cringing before she even finished the question.

He laughed quietly, and held out an arm. Tentatively, she ran a fingernail along the smooth skin of his forearm.

“That didn’t even hurt a little bit,” he admonished.

She huffed and repeated the action, hard enough to leave a red mark. Except it didn’t.

She dug two nails into the paler skin on the inside of her own arm for a few seconds, ignoring the small ache, and regarded the crescent indentations left behind. She turned his arm over and repeated the action, noting him wrinkling his nose in discomfort, but no mark blemished his skin when she took her hand away.

“Huh,” she said blankly. “Look at that.”

“One of the perks,” he shrugged, before bending down to pick up the knife. It was smeared with blood, and there was a small puddle on the floor. He washed the knife with hot water and the detergent she pointed out while she cleaned the tiles.

By the time they sat down to eat, it was like she had never been hurt at all.

“It’s a shame I can’t keep you around,” she sighed. “I’m kind of clumsy.”

They smiled at each other, but spoke no further.


	9. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update because #8 was short~

Marinette had three hours of class that day, and Adrien was happy to follow her to her first lecture on profiles of major design houses moving into the twenty-first century. They sat beside Thomas, who seemed surprised to see him, but winked at Marinette when he wasn’t looking.

After the lecture, Marinette had a drawing seminar, and left Adrien at the library. She asked for his number so she could call him when she finished, surprised when she remembered that didn’t already have it.

The seminar passed quickly enough, and without spare time for her to worry about what he was doing. They had a life model in and she had to devote all her focus to her page in order to apply all the little tips and particular points her teacher highlighted.

Once she had packed up, she pulled out her phone. _Just finished class. Where r u?_

She received a reply a minute later.

_In the library. Meet you at the main entrance in a few?_

She sent a thumbs up and set out for the building where she had left him. She walked in the main doors and looked around for his tall frame and the gleaming hair that gave him away everywhere he went. He was wearing a dark green plaid shirt and a grey hoodie under his black leather jacket, so he would have been much harder to spot through the throngs of students heading from class were he not so tall.

As it was, she spied him leaning against a wall, chatting to a cute redhead in a soft blue cardigan and lacy top. Her long legs brought her much closer to Adrien’s height than most people, women especially, and her willowy frame was tilted towards him as she spoke. Her lips were painted a glossy pink and pulled back in a flirtatious smile as she listened to him say something. She laughed and batted him on the arm.

Marinette was rooted to the spot. Really, her options were either stand there and watch in fuming annoyance, or march over there and interrupt. Since she didn’t have the right to claim Adrien as her own, she could hardly tell other girls to leave him alone. The other option was not particularly appealing, either.

Before she had to reach a decision, Adrien said something to the girl and pushed off the wall with a charming smile, lopsided and a little bit bad-boy. She said something else, and he shrugged. She handed him a slip of paper and retreated into the library proper. He grinned and slid the piece of paper into his pocket, but once she was out of sight he looked a little troubled.

“Hey,” she greeted with a small wave as she clutched her large sketchbook to her body.

“How was class?” he asked with his calm, angelic, wholesome smile back in place as they fell into step towards the metro.

“Oh, good, yeah,” she said. “Very useful.” She was distracted by trying to see what was written on the scrap of paper he produced from his pocket to carelessly throw in a recycling bin as they passed.

When he just looked ahead casually, her curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s that?” she asked, trying for a nonchalant tone but not really pulling it off.

“Hmm? Oh, a girl gave me her phone number,” he sighed. “I thought she might have been ready and I could have intervened, but she actually still has a way to go. Bit of a crossed wire; she’s actually a beacon for someone else.”

“Someone else?” she frowned as they hopped down the stairs to the train station.

He threw her a look, like he was deciding what to say. “I expect there will be a guardian angel loitering around here fairly soon,” he said.

Her eyes shot wide in alarm, jealousy forgotten. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked urgently.

“I think so,” he soothed as they ducked into the carriage. “Her soul is very eye-catching, which is like a strong destiny that draws us to protect it. Besides, I can sense her eventual pull towards someone else, so she seems to be here for the long-haul. The guardians are good at their job.” He rolled his eyes at this.

“Rivalry between guardians and cupids?” she teased.

“Rage and jealousy are both sins,” he said archly.

“Moderate rivalry, then,” she smiled with a smug tilt to her chin.

“So is pride, so watch it,” he said with a look of warning, though humour shined through his reproachful expression.

They laughed and joked on the walk back to the bakery, until they strolled into the thick of the lunchtime rush. She pulled him beyond the counter, directing him to hang his jacket on the row of hooks and don an apron. She left him to help her papa while she tied up her own apron and went to help her mother at the register.

Midday to four were always busy, and the whole family worked consistently to restock the shelves and ring up customers until the end of the afternoon rush. There would be an additional surge of customers after five, buying bread on the way home from work, but since there was enough stock to last the rest of the day, her father could help Sabine up front if necessary.

At four thirty, Marinette wandered back to the kitchen to see how Adrien was doing.

He had his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he carefully stamped a cookie cutter through a thick sheet of dough and transferred the biscuits to a tray. These trays would be placed in the freezer and baked over coming days, so they didn’t have to make every kind of dough every day.

“Has he been helpful, Papa?” she asked from the doorway.

“Well, for someone who doesn’t know one end of a whisk from the other, I’d say he’s done a bang-up job,” he smiled.

Adrien beamed at the praise, his eyes closing in a show of pure happiness.

“It’s getting towards five, Adrien, and we should probably head out, soon. You don’t want to be late and miss your train,” she said, trying not to let the heavy sadness of separation settle into her words.

“Oh, yes, you’re right,” he said, brow wrinkling. He set down his implements when Tom gently shooed him away, and put his apron back on the hook.

He turned back to Tom before he left the room. “Thank you so much for your hospitality and kindness over the last few days,” he said earnestly.

“It was our pleasure,” the jolly man replied, waving a hand at the compliment, “and you’re welcome back anytime.”

They moved into the front of the shop, and repeated the ritual with Sabine, who gave him a long hug, and then slid into their coats and headed out the door.

Marinette checked her watch. “We have about an hour. Do you want to eat before you… go?” she asked.

“How long will it take us to get there?” he shrugged.

“No more than half an hour.”

“I’m not starving, but is there anything that you think I should try?” he asked, his lopsided smile a little weighed down with melancholy. “Anything particularly worthy of a last meal?”

“How about a crêpe?” she laughed thickly. “If you’re not always incarnated in this part of the world, then who knows how long it will be until your next opportunity for an authentic crêpe?”

Once they got to the Latin Quarter, they stopped at a crêpe stand. Marinette ordered lemon and sugar crêpes for both of them, but let Adrien pay when he insisted. One look from those big green eyes and she caved. She had to wonder at the mechanics of his money production, and could only assume he would throw off the economy if he continued to be a walking mint whenever he wanted.

They chewed as they walked, slowly making their way over the bridge and up the stairs to the cathedral.

Conversation died off as they entered the cavernous space, the hushed quiet of those come to admire the gorgeous stonework and painted glass contagious.

Adrien pulled out his phone and looked at the time. Six o’clock.

“So, what actually happens now?” she murmured as an American couple pushed past her to get a better look at the ceiling.

“We need to find somewhere a little more quiet, and then just when the sun sets, I just have to concentrate,” he said, looking around for somewhere away from the crowd milling about.

She pulled him towards the altar and around the side, between some substantial columns where not many people were admiring the simple carvings.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then he placed his hands on her shoulders and affixed her with a solemn look.

“Thank you so much, Marinette, for your friendship and kindness,” he said, sincerity and affection swimming in his eyes, a more vivid shade of green than the carnival of colour on the windows that were lit by the last rays of the sun. “I appreciate you not only for the brightness of your soul and the help you offered so freely, but who you are. No one else could have been so precious to me.”

She couldn’t help but well up at his speech, and pulled him forward into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m going to miss you so much,” she sniffled into his shirt.

“Who knows, I might be back to see you sooner than you think,” he said, rubbing her back.

She pulled back to look up at him. “What do you mean?” she asked.

He looked around as if to check if anyone was listening in. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but since we met, your aura has changed. I sense a destiny approaching. It must be entangled with something else that I don’t deal in, but there’s definitely a deep love in your future, if everything goes to plan.”

She stared up at him dumbly, not knowing what to say. She knew it was ridiculous, but she wanted to cry out that she didn’t want to be forced into ‘deep love’ anytime soon, because if he was leaving her, then it wouldn’t be enough. Instead, she just pulled him closer.

“If you ever need something, and I mean need, I might be able to help,” he said in a low voice. “I will be able to hear your prayers. But start with my name to get my attention, and remember that even though I might be the only one listening and a lot of people pray all the time, other angels can hear you too, so don’t say anything too embarrassing.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Nah,” he shrugged. “Besides, I’m hardly the first person to have a favourite.” He gave her a wink as he gently pulled back.

“I’m your favourite?” she laughed weakly, brushing a few stray tears from her cheeks.

“Top ten, definitely,” he grinned. He pulled out his phone again, and the smile dropped. “It’s time. Stand back.”

She took several paces back, and tried not to cry.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together before his chest, as though praying. He scowled in concentration, and it was the first time she had seen such a dark expression on his face. He tipped his head back towards the heavens and opened his eyes, which were no longer green but glowed a golden light. A breeze that touched nothing else in the church ruffled his hair, and then ripped at his clothes. His skin, where she could see it, started to emanate the same bright light.

Then, without warning, the light flickered, and disappeared. Adrien’s rigid pose broke and he nearly collapsed, stumbling into the pillar beside him.

Marinette took a step closer, hands half raised to touch him, but stopped. She didn’t know what was supposed to happen. Maybe this was how things normally went. She supposed jumping between dimensions couldn’t be easy on the body.

She looked at her watch. It was exactly twelve past. She glanced at him, torn, then decided to wait a little longer. He looked out of it, and if he didn’t tell her to approach then she figured she shouldn’t interrupt. The second hand made its way around the clock-face sluggishly as though to taunt her. She waited one minute, then two.

At last, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Adrien?” she called softly, edging closer. “Are you alright?”

He cracked an eye open, his face pressed against the stone that seemed to be supporting his weight. He didn’t respond.

“Adrien? Can you hear me?” she asked, voice sweet and gentle. She placed a hand on his cheek, surprised at how hot his skin was. It was beyond feverish, almost hot enough to make her yank it back. She patted his face, calling his name softly and leaning her face close to his.

“Can’t go home,” he whispered at last, his voice cracking and so quiet she barely heard it. “Not yet. I have… a mission. A destiny to guard.”

“Whose?” Marinette asked, eyes wide.

He simply blinked at her, and then slid down the stone pillar to pass out on the floor.


	10. Spanner in the Works

By the time Adrien started coming around, a small crowd of sight-seers had gathered around to offer aid.

He was slumped against a stone pillar with Marinette crouched beside him, anxiously peering at his face as his long lashes fluttered.

A kind Italian woman offered a bottle of water in broken French and took his pulse. She seemed to indicate that it was steady enough.

He groaned and shifted, sitting more upright.

“Adrien!” she gasped, trying to keep her tone soothing and calm, but sure her relief spilled into her tone. “Adrien, are you alright?”

He rubbed his forehead and accepted the water when she held it out to him. “Yeah, I’ll be fine in a minute. Just overexerted myself a bit, I suppose.”

She nodded and sat back a little.

“He’s fine,” she announced to the assembled onlookers. “Thank you for your concern, but he’ll be okay, now.”

The crowd dispersed as Marinette thanked the Italian lady, who told Adrien to eat something and drink plenty of water, mostly through mime. Of course, since she explained in Italian as well, he probably understood perfectly.

Still looking pale, however, he just nodded and thanked her.

Marinette took his arm and helped him to stand.

“Are you okay to walk?” she frowned.

“Yes. I feel better already,” he assured her. “Let’s just go slowly for a bit, but I should be fine.”

She nodded and guided him to the grand doors and down the stairs beyond at a sedate pace. She maintained her hold on his arm, even though he was no longer leaning on her.

“So, what went wrong?” she asked tentatively as they waited for a train.

He frowned.

“It’s bizarre. I’ve never been refused entry to Heaven before. You remember I told you that in order for me to return, I have to try to go, and someone else has to pull me back too?” he looked down at her, still clinging to his jacket.

She nodded.

“Well, I did my part,” he said. “Every bit of good an angel does, every person whose life I improve by helping them fall in love with someone perfect for them, makes me a little stronger. Lends me a bit of that energy, if you can get what I mean. So, I was easily able to reach out to the other side.”

“But no one was there to receive you on the other side?” she guessed.

“Not exactly,” he shook his head and scrunched his face. “No one welcomed me back, but someone was there. With a message.”

“Ominous,” she said nervously. In truth, she was worried that it was somehow her fault. Had staying with her, talking to so many people she knew, telling her so much about the secrets of the world and Heaven, somehow gotten him banned from the pearly rotating door in the sky? She had wanted him to stay, but she didn’t want him trapped somewhere he didn’t belong and didn’t want to be.

“An angel named Sameetha spoke to me,” he explained. “She said that I had to remain here. There is something that only I can do.”

“What do you have to do?” she asked. They walked up the stairs of the underground station nearest her house at the same speed as usual. He seemed recovered from his fainting spell, but she positioned herself slightly behind him in order to catch him if necessary.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’m far from the only cupid, obviously. I have no idea what could be so important, and what makes me so special.”

“Then how are you supposed to do it, if you don’t know what it is?”

He looked at her, eyes wide and hands aloft. His posture screamed ‘beats me.’

The bakery was closed, so Marinette let them into the little lobby to access the apartments on the upper floors of the building. She paused once they were halfway up the stairs.

“I told my parents that you were leaving,” she frowned. “We need to think of a new cover story.”

He blinked up at her blandly. Unable to lie, he was hardly going to be of much use.

“Right. Um, I guess we’ll go with…” she trailed off trying to think of a reason the mythical far-away family members would suddenly tell him he was unwelcome. “You decided to stay in Paris for a few days, to try to work things out with your parents.”

He nodded in acceptance. Hopefully her parents would have enough tact not to ask him to his face what he was doing back in their home, and she would be able to quietly put off any requests for details.

She led the way back into the apartment, where her parents sat watching a movie on the couch.

“Marinette, how did it go with – Adrien! Hello again,” Tom raised his eyebrows as he spotted the second person to come through the door.

Adrien gave a slightly bashful wave.

“He’s decided to stay a few extra days to see if he can work through things with his parents,” Marinette said with a forced smile and immediately towed him towards the stairs up to her bedroom.

“Well, that seems like a good idea,” Sabine said before the two of them disappeared through the trapdoor.

Once they were alone in the safety of her room, with the trapdoor shut, she sat on the chaise longue, hugging a large teddy bear. He came and sat by her, throwing his jacket aside.

“So how are we going to find out what you have to do to get your ticket home?” she asked. She was seriously out of her depth, and the awesome sight of her friend glowing like a lantern and then maybe nearly dying was starting to catch up to her.

He leant back on his hands and let out a noisy breath.

“Wait and see, I guess,” he said with a shake of his head. “Nothing like this has really happened to me before. I suppose it will become obvious when the time is right.”

“That sucks,” she said flatly. He laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

“It does,” he conceded. They were quiet for a moment, he playing with his shoelace absently, she running her eyes over him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked softly.

He met her gaze with a serene smile. “Positive,” he said, placing a hand on her forearm. “To move between states, or try to, takes a lot of energy. It’s not easy on your body. It’s even rougher if you start to… dissolve your earthly body, then go back to it.”

“Dissolve,” she repeated with a grimace.

“As though leaving an inanimate body behind for you to answer for would be better,” he laughed. He had a point. “You know I can’t be hurt. It just takes a little while to get situated in the physical reality, to settle into existing that way again. But it’s all good.”

She nodded, placing a hand over his which still rested on her arm. She rubbed her thumb over the back of it, his smooth skin warm and vital under her touch.

She looked up at him shyly, to find him staring at her, something like confusion wrinkling his brow. He looked down at their hands, and then flipped it over to grasp her fingers instead. She tentatively stroked his hand and wrist, embarrassed at how nervous she was. It was just holding someone’s hand, not a marriage proposal, but she was scared how he would respond. His own thumb rubbed against her knuckles.

“No one has ever done that before,” he told her quietly. She finally looked at him, blinking in surprise. His eyes remained focused on where they touched. “You’re the first person to ever really touch me. More than an accident, or a greeting.”

“Does that bother you?” she whispered. “Not touching anyone?” Marinette was a fairly affectionate person, and she touched her friends all the time. She couldn’t imagine not knowing what it was like to be hugged when you were sad.

“No, not usually,” he shrugged. “In Heaven there are other ways of being close. It’s not normally lonely. But it’s very different here.”

They were silent for a while longer, and then he spoke again.

“I like it,” he added, very quietly.

She smiled down at her lap, blushing lightly. She used her other hand to trace invisible patterns on his skin, and his long fingers flexed in response.

A knock on the trapdoor broke the spell of soft intimacy between them.

“Dinner’s on the table,” came her mother’s voice.

With a smile at Adrien, she let go of him and led the way downstairs.

+++

Marinette stretched luxuriously as she lay down in bed, ready to get an indulgent ten hours of sleep before work tomorrow. She figured she deserved it after all the drama she had gone through that day.

As she was settling into the covers, Adrien came in, again in nothing but boxers. He dropped the clothes he had been wearing on the pile beside the chaise. She wondered at how someone who always looked so neat and put-together could have no thought for neatness. She supposed he’d never had a bedroom before, in fairness to him.

She watched from her nest of pillows and blankets as he tried to balance his long form on the chaise. It wasn’t long enough for her to stretch out on, let alone someone as tall as he was. She thought of how he had fallen out of bed that morning, and how awkward he had looked when she woke the days before that. While she was comfortable in her large queen bed. She sighed.

“Adrien,” she said. “If you’re going to be here a while longer, you don’t have to sleep on the couch. You can share my bed if that would be more comfortable. Whatever you prefer.”

She closed her eyes and snuggled into the bed, refusing to see his reaction to her offer. She was the picture of relaxation and comfort, even as her heart pounded as she waited.

After a while where the only noises in the room were their breathing, she heard him rustling, then almost silently padding across the room. The ladder creaked slightly as he ascended, and then he was beside the bed. He paused, and she shuffled slightly farther to the side. She rolled over to flip back the covers and pat the mattress in invitation. He wiggled under the covers and pulled them right up to his chin, nestling into the multitude of pillows.

She was a foot away from a literal angel who looked like he had been carefully designed to be the most handsome a person could be. And he was practically naked. And he was under the covers with her. And he seemed determined to ignore the situation, and go straight to sleep.

“Night,” she whispered, rolling away again and trying to shut up the part of her brain that was keeping tabs on his every breath.

“Good night, Marinette,” he murmured back.


	11. Room-mate

Marinette jolted awake at the sound of her alarm. The prevailing impression she had when she stirred was _warmth_. Her bed was deliciously warm and comfortable, and it was going to be torture to leave.

As she twisted to reach her phone and shut off the alarm, her foot brushed against something that felt an awfully lot like human flesh, and she snapped her head to the side. Adrien’s lanky frame was taking up a little more than his half of the bed, and it was his leg that she had found under the blankets. He was still asleep, elegant neck bared with his head thrown to the side.

“Adrien, wake up,” she murmured, touching his shoulder. He stirred, eyelashes fluttering as he came around.

“Good morning,” he mumbled as he sat up. He stretched his long arms skyward, and Marinette took the opportunity to watch the lean muscles of his back work.

She led him downstairs and provided hot chocolate while he perused the fruit bowl for something he hadn’t eaten before. Though he had spent many stints on Earth and had had to eat a number of times, he had yet to experience many of the delicacies she considered commonplace. While she chewed on a slice of bread with jam on it, he was eating a banana with a spoon and a thoughtful expression. She sighed as he cut off another chunk of the fruit and delicately placed it into his mouth, happily ruminating on the texture and taste.

“I have to go to work today,” she said, putting aside her dismay as he got a knife and fork out of the draw for the pear he had selected. “Not at the bakery; I do a few shifts week at a fashion house. I can’t bring you with me, so I’m afraid you’re on your own until after five. I can give you some of my friends’ numbers if you want to hang out with them.”

He looked up from grimacing at the slightly mushy fruit to give a sort of positive-shrug, and passed her his phone so she could copy across some numbers.

“Oh yeah, I said I’d go to a thing tonight. Club, loud music, one of my friends will be playing. Will you want to come?” she continued as she tapped at his screen. It was clearly a virtually brand new phone. He must have bought it on Valentine’s Day, obviously.

“Sure,” he agreed easily, eying a plum speculatively. She gave him back his phone and left him to his culinary exploration with a roll of her eyes. Sometimes he seemed so normal, having picked up everything he needed to know from his brief trips to Earth. Then there were the times he had clearly never thought to prepare for, like when he might be a guest in someone’s house, and have to choose whether or not sampling every piece of fresh fruit in their kitchen while mostly naked was an acceptable pastime.

She went upstairs and got dressed for work. The dress code for the shop assistants at Gabriel were: all white in summer, all black in winter, and with a single splash of colour in the form of a _Gabriel_ item. They got a monthly allowance to pick something from the shop to wear. Today, she went with skin-tight, slightly shiny black jeans, a clingy black top with a long neck, glossy black loafers, and a vibrant sapphire silk scarf from the designer, which she tied around her head once she had styled her hair up in a perfectly teased chiffon. She threw on her coat, grabbed her bag, and headed back downstairs.

Adrien was sitting cross-legged on the couch, watching the news and eating a handful of cashews.

“Bye,” she said as she grabbed an umbrella. “Text me if you need, otherwise I’ll see you back here tonight. Also, please get dressed soon, my parents might not like it if you’re strolling around in your undies all day.”

His bright laughter followed her out the door.

+++

After lunch, Marinette was tidying up the shoe section after helping a woman pick her size, when the sound of a customer entering the shop made her stand up. She still held the final pair of shoes, which she rushed to hide behind the counter. It was policy to clear away any and all clutter immediately, and a new customer should never be faced with the aftermath of an earlier sale. It simply wasn’t the way designer outlets were.

Glancing around, she frowned. Neither of the other staff members were about – Stephanie was on her break, but she had no idea where Marc had run off to. She walked over to the entrance with a smooth smile in place to greet the customer.

He was a tall man in an elegant, precise suit, a woman with a tablet at his elbow also impeccably dressed.

As she came closer, she almost did a double take. She was coming face-to-face with the founder of the entire company, and her idol. She fought hard to keep her expression professional and welcoming.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Agreste, Madame,” she said with a respectful incline of her head. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Where is the Store Manager?” he asked briskly. The man was known for coming across as abrupt and a little harsh.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she frowned. “Our manager has Friday afternoons off.”

He blinked, his face remaining emotionless. “Who is responsible for the window displays?” he demanded.

Marinette gulped, her stomach twisting. She hoped that she wasn’t about to get fired, and that M. Agreste wouldn’t remember who she was and hold this incident against her when she applied for the program with his brand later.

“The windows?” she said, stalling.

“The displays in the windows vary from the diagram sent to the Store Manager last week,” the woman, clearly his PA, elaborated with a bland blink.

“Oh, right.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I was the one to make the additions.” Her admission hung in the air, making it hard to breathe.

“Why?”

She started, surprised at his question.

“Er, well,” she stammered. “When the new displays went up and I came into work, I couldn’t help but feel that they looked incomplete, and slightly off-balance. I added a few bits of fabric and some props to just… make it something a bit more… ‘wow.’”

Both of them stared at her. The PA looked bored and detached in the extreme, and Gabriel looked stern and imposing.

“What is your name?” he barked.

“Marinette,” she answered, resisting shrinking back. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

The woman made a note on her tablet.

“Hm. I like the improvements; my compliments on your eye, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” he said with a curt nod. With that, he turned and swept out, closely followed by the woman, her heels clicking firmly against the pristine, white flooring.

Marinette let out a shaky breath of relief, getting back to work. She was shaken by the shock of seeing Gabriel Agreste himself swan into the shop, even if it was the most important and the grandest branch. More than that, she was euphoric that she had been complimented by the man himself.

She wanted to smack her co-workers for leaving her to face him alone, naturally, but nothing could dampen her mood.

+++

When she let herself into the apartment, it seemed to be empty. Her parents would still be downstairs closing up shop, and there was no sign of Adrien.

She sent him a quick text asking when she could expect him home, and jogged upstairs to pick an outfit for their evening entertainment. She dug through her closet for the pair of glitzy gold platforms she didn’t get to wear often enough, and set about looking for something to wear with them. She quickly pulled out a golden metal clutch shaped like a love heart, but was torn as to what to pick. None of her dresses seemed right – she didn’t frequent nightclubs, and her customary style was a little too clean-cut for something just a little grotty like a rave.

As she pondered, the sound of footsteps leaping up her stairs made her turn. Adrien appeared, clearly just out of the shower. He must have blow-dried his hair, but it was still slightly damp as he ruffled it. He looked distracted, clearly searching for something, so he didn’t notice her staring.

His black jeans weren’t done up, his unfastened belt making them ride low on his hips, and his black dress shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his chest. She had seen him in less, since he was shameless about being seen in his smalls, but there was something far sexier about his carelessly dishevelled look at that moment.

He distractedly did up the bottom half of the buttons on his shirt and started tucking it in while he cast about, looking for whatever he sought.

He finally looked up at her.

“Hello, Marinette,” he said, sparing her a sunny smile. “How was work?”

“Great, but weird,” she replied. “The boss of the whole company came in and complimented the tweaks I made to the window displays, which are kind of meant to be standardised.”

“That’s fantastic,” he grinned, fiddling with the cuff he had rolled up to his elbow. “What time are we leaving, by the way?”

“About ten,” she said, unable to look away from his sleek silhouette as he stooped to look under the chaise, his fitted clothes accentuating his broad shoulders and lithe build.

“Okay,” he muttered, before striding back to the trapdoor and disappearing into the living room.

If he was going to look that hot, she was going to amp it up, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeking input for later chapters: where do we stand on explicit content? Tacky and unnecessary or an important part of the emotional development of a story? I don't want to lower the tone unduly, so feel free to comment: sexy or unsexy, which way should I go?


	12. Dance Partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for very mild sexual content, very mild violence, and alcohol consumption.

Adrien had apparently been out most of the day. He told her he’d had to follow a mark around a bookshop for forty minutes and so had bought a book, but had become utterly invested. He spent most of the evening on the couch engrossed in it once he had found it again. He had left it on the bathroom counter, not putting it down until he had to, literally only when he got into the shower.

He was downstairs, reading and talking with her parents, while she primped in her room.

She selected the most daring outfit she could. A black cat-suit with large eyelets up the legs and arms, the back dipping low, all the way to the small of her back. She had actually made it herself, a mock-up for an assignment she had decided not to run with, but liked the idea enough to finish in her own time. She added gold, glittery make-up and chunky jewellery, examining herself in the mirror. She certainly looked different than she usually did. She looked pretty hot, if she did say so herself.

She slipped on a sturdy black jacket and clunked down the stairs. She was hyperaware of the way Adrien glanced up from the page at the noise, but his eyes caught on her legs as she descended. His attention raked up her body, and his normally bright eyes looked dark for a moment. He snapped out of it, and set his book down. Grabbing his jacket, he joined in the farewells to Tom and Sabine, and followed her out into the night.

On the way to the club, he caught her up on the two couples he has managed to set up and the book he was reading – his first ever. It was bizarre to think that this man, who was clearly in his twenties, was in some ways an adult and fully capable, and yet simultaneously lacking so many of the most basic experiences.

The queue was short so early in the night, and they didn’t have to pay entry as Nino had put her name on the list (with a plus-one). She led him to the bar and got them both a pint.

The main acts wouldn’t start until eleven, so they could still hear one another if they yelled. People were milling about, talking, drinking, and bopping their heads to the loud playlist pumping through the speakers.

“I’m going to check my jacket,” she told him, having to speak up to be heard, but he nodded and followed her to the cloak room. She drained the last of her beer as they reached the front of the line.

“Mari!” someone squealed, before she was grabbed from the side. The guy behind the counter clicked his tongue in annoyance at the delay.

Marinette pushed Alya off her and handed over the jacket, accepting the ticket with an apologetic smile and stepping aside. Busy greeting her friend, she didn’t see emerald eyes appreciatively taking in the revealing cut of her clothing.

When Adrien stepped over to join them, Alya squeezed him too.

“Adrien! I thought you were going to be out of town,” she grinned. “I’m so glad you decided to stick around for a bit.” She cut a look at her best friend, who returned her gaze flatly.

“My plans aren’t set in stone as of yet,” he said, suitably vague, as ever.

“Let’s see if we can score a free round – I think it comes with being a VIP,” she said, changing the subject somewhat, as she steered he and Marinette back towards the bar.

They loitered around, soaking up the vibe, having a few drinks, and waiting for Nino to start his set.

Not long after eleven, the lights dimmed and a man with electric blue hair walked onstage. A brief introduction to get the crowd excited, and he began pounding out angry low-fi techno that set Marinette’s teeth on edge but seemed to be right up the alley of some of the attendees.

Throwing down the last of her bright pink drink, the burn of the alcohol masked by the sweetness of the drink, she motioned towards the archway on the other side of the dancefloor.

This club always had two acts on at once, allowing patrons to wander between them as their tastes dictated.

Nino jumped up on stage just as they entered. The two girls jumped and screamed in support of their friend.

“Let’s get this party started! I’m DJ Wi-fi and I’m going to be revamping some bangers from the old days!” he yelled out, eliciting cries of enthusiasm from the crowd. He kicked off with a fast-paced dance remix of _Elle Me Dit_ , and the dancefloor writhed excitedly.

Alya spotted someone waving her over and battled her way through the crowd to get to them, pulling Marinette behind her, and Adrien by extension. Juleka, a friend from their school days, smiled at them, unable to introduce the tall boy with several facial piercings and icy white hair beyond a wave of the hand. The whole group of them screamed the lyrics and jumped around together for a few songs.

Alya, Juleka, and the boy all departed to get another round, leaving Marinette alone with Adrien.

She turned her focus to him, laughing and trying to teach him the Macarena as Nino’s rapid version blasted from the speakers and rattled in her chest. Her huge heels gave her enough of a boost that her eyes made it beyond his chin height, and she was able to grab his wrists and manoeuvre his arms about.

They danced for some time, had several more rounds – including Jaegerbombs to offset any loss of energy – and bumped into a handful of friends.

Once Nino handed over to the follow-up act, they adjourned to the bar to have some conversation, away from the loudest of the music, since the bad techno act had given over to a girl with a strong RnB influence and the volume had been dialled back.

The four of them talked for a while, Adrien and Nino hitting it off, until Alya dragged Nino off to dance.

Marinette sipped at her mimosa, watching the masses dancing and writhing to the slow, sexy beat the DJ played. She wondered if it would embarrass Adrien, but since he was hardly a prude, she figured it was fifty-fifty.

He seemed to be musing on the same topic.

“I’ve never seen dancing like this,” he noted rather diplomatically. A lot of what was happening by this late in the evening and to this rhythm ranged from grinding to borderline public indecency. Most of the couples straight-up making out were up against the walls and somewhat concealed, but some were unabashedly sucking face among the other dancers.

“I believe you,” she laughed. “Is it sinful?”

He rolled his eyes. “Not most of it. I feel like we’ve been over this: using the body you were given isn’t inherently bad,” he said with a hint of exasperation.

She held up her hands. “Right, right, I was just kidding,” she placated. “Do you want to dance, then?” She was nervous at the suggestion, and avoided his eyes by playing with her straw.

“Sure.”

His acceptance surprised her. He took the glass – actually plastic – from her hand and placed in on the bar. He led her to the dancefloor, at which point they both knew she had to take the lead.

She navigated them to a spot farther into the crowd, trying to help him get into the vibe, the jostling of countless people around you part of the experience.

She stepped close, so close that their chests were touching, and put her arms over his shoulders. She let the music lead her, undulating her body in time, smiling when she felt hands come up to rest against her back. The warmth of his hands against her exposed skin made her bite her lip. She spun in his arms, back to his chest, snaking her hips as she bobbed down to the floor and came slowly back up. In truth, she had never really done this before, but had a fairly good idea of what to do and the uncommon advantage of certainty that her dance partner didn’t have the background to judge her.

She pressed back against him, not grinding with any degree of force, but letting him get the idea. He picked up on what other couples were doing and grabbed her by the hips, pressing ever so slightly closer. With each bump and roll, bend and snap, they made the slightest bit more contact. After a few songs, she was well and truly riled up, with enough alcohol in her system to push her to something about it. A final twirl of her hip ground hard against him, before she spun again and pushed against his chest. She kept going until his back hit the wall.

His fingers convulsed slightly where they still gripped her by the hips. She pressed up against the length of his body, and lust flickered across his face. A hand splayed out across the sticky skin of her lower back, holding her to him.

His gaze didn’t waver from her, and she could feel his breath against her face, her lips. She had a second chance to get what had slipped away from her the first time.

She rolled forward, on her toes in her platforms, to bring her lips close to his. He caressed her cheek, for a moment looking more tender than sexed-up. He brought his face closer to hers, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. She closed the distance, at long last.

She kept the kiss soft, almost despite herself, at first. She figured that this was most likely his first, and she didn’t want to traumatise him. After a moment, she moved, sucking at his lower lip slightly. She felt their mouths vibrate slightly as he made a noise she couldn’t hear this close to the sound system.

Gladly, she spent the next long while up against the wall, making out with Adrien with increasing fervour. When she bit him gently, the arm on her back wrapped around her far tighter, his hand sliding around her waist and inside the cat-suit. She probed forward with her tongue and he responded eagerly, sucking at her and stroking it with his own.

She was sure she was on the verge of crossing a boundary and wandering into territory far beyond kissing when her phone started buzzing, sending vibrations up the long chain of her small bag.

Alya was texting her a long series of almost identical, extremely poorly-lit photographs. She could easily tell, however, that she was one of the subjects. Each picture was accompanied by a string of amorous emojis.

She supposed this was Alya’s way of calling time on her activities before they got out of hand.

With a grin, she pulled out of his embrace, consciously working against the pull of his hooded eyes and swollen lips. Taking his hand, she pulled him back through the crowd to where Alya, Nino and his friend Ibrahim, and Juleka and the boy who turned out to be called Spyke, had congregated at the far end of the bar. Alya had apparently been more discreet than could generally be relied upon, as none of her other friends were giving she and Adrien a look as they approached. Alya took it upon herself to compensate, though, her face suggestive and amused enough for everyone.

Neither of them acknowledged her stares and raised eyebrows, talking and laughing normally with the group. Marinette tried her very best not to react at the small brushes and subtle touches from the boy beside her.

Another hour of dancing, several drinks and a hundred photos later, Marinette decided to call it a night.

“I’m going to head home,” she said in Adrien’s ear. “You coming, or want to stay a while?” It wasn’t yet four am, and if he was so inclined, there were places he could go to party ‘til sunup. It seemed like Juleka and Spyke were in for the long haul, so he wouldn’t have to be short of company.

“I’m happy to be done for today,” he said. They made the rounds, farewelling the others. Picking up their jackets, though they were far too hot and sweaty to put them on just yet, they made their way outside.

The frigid night air was cooling against her damp skin, refreshing enough to make her sigh with relief after being in the crush of people for so long. The sounds of parties and revelry spilled out into the street all around them, muted by the dull ringing in her ears from the music in the club. The streets were wet with rain that had only just stopped. She breathed deeply. She loved the peace that came after the craziness whenever she made her way home at night. There was such a beautiful stillness in the aftermath of so much frenzied movement.

They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes, until Adrien caught her by the elbow.

“Wait,” he murmured, squinting at a mass of people milling about the entrance of a nightclub up ahead. “It’s time. Two people up ahead…”

Marinette followed his gaze, but of course could see nothing unusual.

“They’re so close, but I can tell they’ve been dancing about each other for a while now,” he said thoughtfully. Suddenly, he perked up, eyes losing the slightly clouded quality the alcohol had granted them for a moment. “I have an idea. You might want to wait here.”

With that, he let her go and strode forward, his normally elegant gait made a little lazy by the drinks. He walked past the crowd, giving it a wide berth, then doubled back. This time, he knocked shoulders with several people. He bumped a man with a small Mohawk hard enough to spin him in place. Adrien shoved past, but the guy made to follow.

“Hey, dickhead, watch where you’re going!” the man hollered.

Adrien turned to hold up his middle fingers as he sauntered away, walking backwards.

And that was all it took.

Mohawk Man spat out several curses and launched himself at Adrien, paying no mind to the fact that he was several inches shorter and didn’t have anything like the same sense of athleticism about him. He grabbed him by the lapels, shook him, and wound back for a punch. Marinette’s eyes widened. He had said she should stay back, but she wasn’t about to let him get beaten to death.

Mohawk Man’s fist arched forward, form a little sloppy but aim true and heading straight for Adrien’s perfectly chiselled jaw. Until he threw a hand up casually, halting the punch easily. The other guy looked surprised, then mightily pissed off.

He took another swing, then a nasty kick, even a head-butt, but Adrien dodged fluidly. After the scuffle had drawn the attention of everyone in the vicinity, he grabbed Mohawk man by the wrist, managing to dart behind him and hold both his hands behind his back. The man snarled and struggled, but made no headway in his escape. Adrien scowled, the curl of his mouth severe and almost ugly. Marinette didn’t approach, rooted to the spot as she stared, along with everyone else. She felt like she was only now getting a glimpse of the capacity for destruction angels must have had; this disturbing power, invulnerability, and wrathful expression was the kernel of truth at the heart of the modern image of the avenging angel.

At that moment, a woman with a number of facial piercings and tattoos creeping up her neck shoved her way through the onlookers to burst into the clearing where they fought.

“Ace!” she cried. “Oh my God, let go of him!”

Adrien met her gaze over Mohawk Man’s head, raising his eyebrows but saying nothing.

“Just let him go, man,” she said, a strange mix of imploring and bravado in her tone. “Ace is a hothead, but I’ll keep him straight. It’s not worth the trouble, and someone will already have called the cops.”

He regarded her thoughtfully, and then let the man, Ace, free with a shove. Ace whirled around, looking for all the world ready to take another swing, but the woman placed a hand on his arm. She talked to him quietly, and though he kept staring at Adrien with a murderous look in his eye, he slowly slouched off, pushing his way through the crowd.

Adrien watched them go, still stood tall and at the ready. Then, he was himself again, walking over to join Marinette. She stared up at him. He cocked his head.

“What?” he blinked.

She looked at him incredulously.

“Are you joking?” she spluttered. “You just picked a fight with a guy who was clearly ready to kick your head in! And then you pulled some weird magical strongman moves? What’s up with that? Aren’t you meant to be a pacifist or something? What if you’d gotten hurt?”

He regarded her calmly as she spoke, getting more animated with every word. She stood there panting and he pulled her over into the mouth of a narrow alley, out of the way of foot traffic and curious gazes.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Marinette,” he soothed, green eyes almost black in the poor lighting. He leant in over her, voice low, and she couldn’t help but stare in fascination. “I know it seems more extreme than normal, but it seemed like just the right thing to get them together, and to humble a man used to getting his way through violence.”

“Then how come you won so easily?” she asked pointedly.

“I’m pretty sure I mentioned that angels all have some extra power at our disposal. A mortal can never overpower me,” he explained casually. He gave a nonchalant shrug as though his bizarre supremacy over her entire race wasn’t terrifying.

She crossed her arms. “And, you’re allowed to start street fights?” she challenged.

“I didn’t hurt him, there’s no sin there. I irritated someone already on edge, nothing more,” he pointed out.

“He could have stabbed you!” she hissed, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

“That would have sucked. Unlikely, but possible,” he allowed, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

“What then, huh? What am I going to do if I have to take you to hospital? You don’t have an identity, I assume,” she scowled, poking him in the chest.

He caught her hand and held it to him. “Marinette. I wouldn’t need to go to hospital. Getting stabbed would hurt, a lot, I assume. But it would stop the moment someone pulled the knife out. You know I can’t be damaged. I’m not really alive, so I can’t die,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t have let anyone get hurt, especially not you, if that has you worried.”

She gazed into his earnest eyes, his face so close to hers. She trusted him. Completely. She nodded.

He touched his forehead to hers, and she closed her eyes breathing deeply. Once she had calmed down, he let their hands fall, without letting hers go, and led her out of the alley, heading for the train again.

+++

When they got back to her apartment, the lights were off and her parents were clearly in bed. She went off to have a shower, leaving Adrien to his devices for half an hour. As she suspected, he snacked on random bits and pieces from the fridge while unattended.

“Shower’s free,” she laughed quietly when she came into the room, interrupting him biting into a plain cracker with mayonnaise on it.

He nodded and said something that was entirely obscured by the food in his mouth.

She rolled her eyes at his back as he headed around the corner. She tidied up the small mess he had made, and then dragged her discarded clothes and shoes up to her room. Too tired and too drunk to put anything away, she left it all in a pile at the foot of her bed, flopping down on top of the covers.

She must have dozed off, because the sound of the trapdoor falling shut made her start awake.

She heard Adrien shuffling around, then the light flicked off.

“Are you sleeping up here?” she mumbled groggily.

He appeared a moment later, laughing at her awkward position. She grumbled and flapped a hand at him.

“I’m officially out of energy for today,” she said, words distorted by the way her face was squished against the mattress.

He chuckled some more, but she didn’t deign to reply. A second later, he dragged her up to the top of the bed, out of the way so that he could pull down the covers, and then back down to lie in a more conventional configuration. She gasped at being pushed about like a ragdoll, but didn’t protest, since he was sorting out her problems for her, and his gentle but insistent hands felt nice as they pushed and pulled her into position.

Once he was happy with her placement, he got into bed beside her. He pulled up the covers and let out a sleepy sigh as he relaxed.

He had left her on her side, facing away from him, but she summoned the energy to roll over and face him. Her eyelids were heavy, but she fought the urge to let them fall shut.

He cracked an eye to look at her.

“What?” he whispered.

“You’re warm,” she replied.

He didn’t answer. It wasn’t really a question.

She scooted closer tentatively. He didn’t react, so she wiggled closer still, until her knee was hitched up comfortably over the front of his legs, and an arm lay over his chest.

He didn’t say anything, but his fingertips ran gently over her forearm.

She was warm and cosy, and the sound and feeling of his breathing lulled her into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's been commenting on this story, it's so kind and encouraging! In view of people's opinions and advice in the comments, I've decided to leave in some *rumoured* spicy content in later chapters. I'll put warnings for those wishing to skip over the more explicit content.


	13. Frustration

There was a noise, registering at the edge of her consciousness, causing a ripple through her dreams. Marinette pulled her covers up to her chin, resisting the interruption.

“Marinette,” a familiar voice called. “Marinette, don’t you have work today?”

The voice had a point – she probably did have work today. It was soft and feminine, and had a note of exasperation to it.

“Marinette, wake up – oh!”

The voice was close now. At-the-end-of-the-bed close.

She flailed her arms in an attempt to escape the heavy weight of sleep and something more concrete that pinned her down. She half-succeeded, managing to prop herself up on an elbow.

Sabine stood at the top of the ladder, blinking at her daughter. Her daughter, and the man who was at least half naked wrapped around her. They had shifted in the night, and Adrien was spooning her, long arms tucking her small frame into his chest.

Marinette blushed at her mother, and she stared back. Silence reigned.

At last, it was broken. By the sound of Adrien stirring.

He sighed, sat up, stretched. He noticed Sabine.

“Oh,” he said, surprised but sunny all the same. “Good morning.”

Sabine let out a nonplussed laugh, and then left the room without further comment.

Marinette stared after her.

“Oh my God,” she moaned into her hands as soon as she was gone. “That was so embarrassing.”

He cocked his head. She peeked at him between her fingers, and then dropped her hands.

“Come on,” she said. “There is no way you don’t get this. It is extremely awkward for your parents to walk in and find you sleeping with someone.”

“Oh,” he laughed, cheeks pinking slightly. “Surely that’s only if–”

“But she doesn’t know that we were just sleeping!” she cut him off. “Plus, you’re apparently naked.”

“I’m not naked,” he protested.

“She doesn’t know that!” she shrieked.

Adrien held his hands up in surrender as she massaged her temples. Suddenly, she straightened.

“Wait, what time is it?” She dived for her phone and then tumbled out of bed. “Oh my God I have to be at work in under an hour,” she panicked, already sliding down to the main bedroom and into the room below. Adrien’s irritatingly carefree laughter followed her as she burst into the kitchen, grabbing an apple for her handbag and a croissant which she scarfed down while she styled her hair.

When she re-entered her room, Adrien was in blue jeans and rustling around in his pile of stuff for a shirt. She didn’t have time to eye his mess, going straight to her closet. She went for fitted black slacks, a red collared shirt under a fluffy black jumper, and red patent loafers to match.

“Turn around and close your eyes,” she commanded. He obeyed and she started stripping out of her pyjamas. She dressed in record time, giving him the all-clear as she tugged at the sweater to make sure it lay correctly. She threw on her coat and some red lipstick.

“What are you doing today?” she asked as she swiped on mascara quickly. She could see him slipping into a pair of sneakers in the mirror.

“I might as well follow you to work, then just hang around until I find a mark,” he shrugged.

Marinette nodded, inclining her head as she went past for him to follow. They jogged down the stairs and set a brisk pace to the metro. Alighting at the station Champs-Élysées-Clemenceau, they weaved through crowds of tourists and shoppers until they got to the Gabriel shopfront.

As they passed under the fancy awning and into the store, Adrien stiffened, looking about with narrowed eyes.

“What is it?” she asked, watching his face.

“I don’t know,” he said unsurely. “But there’s definitely something unusual. Something… important. It feels… imminent.”

“Dangerous?” she probed anxiously. That got him to look at her.

“No,” he assured her. “It’s not like that. But I’ll hang around for a while. You do whatever you normally do.”

She nodded dutifully and headed to the Staff Only area through a discreet door behind the counter, obscured by lush black drapes with silver trim. She set down her things and scanned her ID to clock in. With a breath to steady herself, she re-emerged to speak with her manager.

Claire, the Store Manager, was a tall, willowy woman, perfectly bleached hair and artfully applied make-up always in perfect order. She was an aspiring actress, and had had some success, but was working this job until her big break came along. She stood, in her towering neon-yellow heels, behind the counter, manicured nails tapping rhythmically at the screen of a tablet.

“Oh, Marinette,” she greeted. “Just barely on time, as ever.” She threw a wry look over her shoulder, but made no further comment.

“ _Bonjour_ , Claire,” she smiled as she came to stand beside her. “I was out last night, and forgot to set an alarm.”

Claire just laughed. The conversation paused as a woman came up to the counter and Marinette processed the sale.

“Marinette, can you go check stock for the _Charlize Chaussures_ in crimson?” Claire asked distractedly as she continued tapping at the screen, placing stock orders.

She dutifully obeyed, returning to the back room and looking through the shelves for the right shoes. She jotted down the numbers per size, and left to relay the information to Claire.

“They’re selling quickly,” she said as she came through the door and around the drapes. “There’s only one pair in 38, 39, and 40.” She came to an abrupt stop, freezing mid-step, when she looked up.

Monsieur Agreste’s assistant was standing at the counter, talking to Claire with the same neutral expression as before.

“Here she is,” Claire said, looking uncomfortable and a little relieved that she was back.

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” the assistant nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m here on behalf of Monsieur Agreste himself. Having reviewed your resume from last year, submitted with your application for this position, it seems you are a current student of fashion design. Are you on track to graduate at the end of this academic year?”

“Um, yes, I am,” she said, trying to stay calm. Attempting to play it cool, she drifted closer to the counter to speak to the woman. Claire looked between the two of them curiously.

“I have looked into it, and I see that you have applied for graduate entry in September,” she continued, referring to her screen. “You may have heard of the Summer Intensive Program the company runs. You may also be aware that selection for this program is much more exclusive, and few invitations to apply are handed out.”

Marinette held her breath. The general graduate program would be fantastic, but the Summer Intensive would give her the chance to rub shoulders with the design team and help out on projects it normally took years to get involvement in. Even Claire looked excited.

“Monsieur Agreste has asked me to invite you to the information session, Monday evening, after which you will be able to apply to the program,” the assistant said.

Marinette gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth to stop herself from squealing.

“Thank you so much, I would love to attend,” she managed to say after a moment.

The woman nodded, and then handed over an envelope.

“All the information about the event and an overview of the program is there. Here’s my card, if you have any pertinent questions,” she said, handing her a tasteful business card. It read, _Natalie Sancoeur: Personal Assistant to Gabriel Agreste_.

“Thank you so much, Madame Sancoeur,” she said, hands shaking slightly as she clutched the documents.

With a businesslike nod, Natalie strode out of the store.

In her wake, the two girls stared after her. As they did, she noticed Adrien slip out of the store and follow her.

+++

The minute Marinette stepped into the apartment, she ran into the kitchen, holding the envelope from Natalie aloft.

“Maman! Papa! You’ll never guess what happened,” she squealed, hopping from foot to foot in excitement.

Her father looked up from the pot he was stirring, and Sabine led Adrien over from where they both sat on the couch.

“What happened?” she asked with a sedate sort of anticipation.

“Gabriel Agreste _himself_ noticed some of my improvements around the store yesterday, and today he sent his _personal_ assistant to invite me to apply for a special summer program with the company,” she gushed. Her parents rushed her in a group hug, compliments and congratulations flowing freely. Adrien stood behind them, smiling at her proudly as he hung back.

After a while, she extricated herself to go upstairs and put down her things. She gestured for Adrien to follow.

“Congratulations,” he said, beaming down at her once they were alone.

“Thanks,” she grinned back, slipping out of her shoes and then coat. She set about tidying up her discarded clothes, from today and the night before.

“Why did you follow the woman from the shop?” she asked as she placed her jewellery away in a box.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. She had the same aura about her as the shop,” he said distractedly. “Something to do with something important, but not exactly involved.”

His response made sense, but she sneaked a peek at his reflection to puzzle out his tone. His head was tilted to the side as he watched her move around.

She whirled to face him. “Are you checking me out?” she blurted without thinking.

He jerked upright, blushing. “Uh, I don’t, er,” he coughed.

She blushed too. She was flattered that someone so picture-perfect would pay attention to her looks, and pleased that it was Adrien’s attention in particular she was getting. No one wanted to be treated like a piece of meat, but when it was your almost-too-wholesome friend, who you finally kissed less than twenty-four hours ago… That was a special case.

“You don’t have to answer that,” she giggled, turning back to finish hanging up her coat. “Turn around?”

She checked that he was facing away before slipping into a more comfortable hoodie and leggings. “I’m decent,” she declared. When he faced her again, his face was mostly back to its flawless bronze glory, red faded. She didn’t miss the way his eyes ran down her body for a moment, though. This time, she chose not to comment.

“So, this special aura. Why do you care? You said before that everyone has one, and most of them aren’t meant for cupids,” she said.

He sighed and scrunched up his face as he tried to explain. “You’re right, everyone has an aura. Everyone’s soul has a particular… resonance. On top of that, a lot of people are marked with energy from Heaven, slowly pulling them towards something big. The stronger that is, the closer the moment of change. Angels can pick up on it, and help it happen, when we’re on Earth,” he said. Marinette nodded as this much was familiar to her.

“When it’s in the… jurisdiction of cupids, we understand it better. Perceive nuance that others would miss. Otherwise, I can just tell that a destiny is close or far-off, and not my concern,” he continued. “Destinies that I can help with have a special ring to them. But this one… I’m positive that it isn’t a love connection that needs intervention. And yet, it has this particular… tang to it that tells me it has something to do with me. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

“And you can’t tell what kind of destiny it is?” she frowned.

He shook his head and gave a helpless shrug.

“Do you think it has anything to do with me?” she asked, biting her lip.

“No, your destiny has a very distinct essence. This whole thing is very… dark blue,” he said, wincing at his vague reply.

“What colour is mine?” she blinked.

“Red. Very red,” he answered.

“What does that mean?”

“It can mean a lot of things,” he said evasively, his catlike grin telling her that he knew more than he was willing to say.

“Not even a hint?” she whined.

He laughed, and then sobered, looking wistful. “Not long now,” he said softly. “You’ll be united with someone with a great power to change your life for the better, and I sense that… well, that’s probably all I can say.”

“When will I meet them?” she whispered, feeling empty more than anything else. She should be excited, but she couldn’t look past the fact that it meant that Adrien would be gone.

“I really shouldn’t tell you this, but since you’ve been so generous to me…” he smiled crookedly, though a sombre look lingered in his eyes. “I believe you have already crossed paths. As for when you will know who it is, I don’t think anyone could say.”

She nodded, but didn’t reply. They lapsed into silence.

Sabine’s voice calling them to the table broke their bubble of sullen musing.

At the table, Adrien was lively, sunny, and kind, as always. Marinette tried to join in the conversation, but in the back of her mind, she was resigning herself. They hadn’t talked about the kiss they had shared, about what it meant, but she was coming to see that it couldn’t mean anything. Sooner or later, he was going to achieve whatever it was that he was here to do, and then he would be lost to her. She would probably never see him again. He couldn’t belong to her because he didn’t belong here.

She wouldn’t allow herself to fall in love with someone she was destined to lose. She only hoped it wasn’t too late.

That night, when they went to bed, she wouldn’t slide over to fall asleep against his side. He wouldn’t pull her close to feel her breathing and inhale the sweet scent of her hair while she slept. They would wish each other good night, turn their backs, and stay as far away as the bed allowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we came so close to disaster gang... my computer nearly self-destructed and there is no way i was going to rewrite twenty thousand words... I'm going to upload the remaining chapters faster than planned so the gods' warning doesn't go to waste...


	14. Flirt

When Marinette blearily opened her eyes on Sunday morning, she was disoriented for a moment. Adrien’s side of the bed was empty, the bedclothes tucked around her more securely than she bothered to do herself.

She sat up, checking her phone. She’d slept in until nearly eleven. Despite the appeal of the cosy cocoon offered by her bed, she threw back the blankets and swung her legs out. She didn’t have work or classes, but she did have a number of assignments fast-approaching that she desperately needed to work on.

She padded down to the kitchen for breakfast, surprised to see the main room unoccupied. Her parents were likely downstairs manning the bakery, but she had no idea where Adrien had gotten to. She supposed she shouldn’t worry about him – he wasn’t her responsibility, nor did he have to let her know everywhere he went. She tried to ignore the little pang of anxiety that sat in her heart, the little niggling doubt that he might be gone for good.

As she ripped off pieces of a croissant, she caved and pulled out her phone.

 _Hey what are you up to right now?_ she sent, hoping he’d get back to her relatively soon.

As she was cleaning up, her phone buzzed.

 _I’m in the bakery lol,_ Adrien has answered.

She blinked. She supposed she should have checked downstairs before stressing about where he might have gone.

She retreated to her room to slip into comfy leggings and her biggest hoodie before jogging downstairs.

Peeking around the corner into the back room of the bakery, she smiled at what she saw.

Adrien, a bandana she recognised as one of hers holding his luxurious mop back, tongue sticking out slightly as he tried to roll a pain au chocolat evenly. With his sleeves rolled up and a little flour down his apron-front, he looked about as soft and lovable as a person could.

“Yes, that’s much better,” her father said approvingly as he peered at Adrien’s handiwork from farther down the bench where he piped icing onto crisp cinnamon biscuits.

Adrien grinned, pleased with his work and the compliment. As she watched, he flattened another portion of the dough, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth again as he carefully checked the thickness before he started to fold. Satisfied, he reached for a pair of chocolate sticks placing them just so, and began delicately folding the dough around it as he’d been shown.

Her dad finished the tray he was working on, picking it up and disappearing into the storeroom to let it dry on a rack while he went about his next task. Marinette stayed hidden behind the wall, watching Adrien’s long fingers gently tease the soft, buttery goodness into the cute rolls that would be baked into golden-brown treats. She watched his hands dance up and down, probing and pulling, tendons working in his forearms as he concentrated. She sighed dreamily.

She was admiring the way his eyelashes cast shadows onto his cheekbones in the bright down-lighting when he spoke.

“How long are you going to stand there, by the way?” he asked, a smile on his face even though he kept his eyes on his croissants.

“What? Me?” she spluttered, caught out and blushing. “I’m not staring!”

“I didn’t say you were,” he laughed, still not looking up.

“Oh,” she said. Stupid. “Right. Good, then.”

“Good,” he said. “Are you here to check on me then? Try not to judge me too harshly, I’m a beginner.”

“I’m not going to judge you,” she snorted, finally coming through the doorway, strolling towards his workstation to get a better look.

“Hmm,” he frowned thoughtfully as he lay another two pieces of chocolate in place. “Then I wonder why you were staring.”

“I wasn’t! I just happened to be casually looking in this general direction very briefly!” she defended. Finally, he met her flustered gaze, the alluring green of his eyes, sparkling with their divine splendour, nearly flattening her on the spot and sending her heart aflutter.

“Marinette, I’m not sure that’s true,” he admonished playfully, a smug look entering his eye. “In fact, I have to wonder if you were checking me out.”

Her eyes widened, but she was unable to do more than let out a scandalised squawk as she scanned the immediate area for her returning father.

“Well, you can wonder away, but there’s no way I would be doing something so tactless,” she sniffed, earning a melodious, joyous laugh that shook his wide shoulders and tipped his head back.

“I was just wondering if we have any rejects or spares to snack on, but I really have to get to work on an assignment,” she declared, turning on her heel to look behind the counter. She quickly nabbed the bag of stock that wasn’t quite fit for sale and made for the stairs, the sound of Adrien’s chuckles behind her.

As she made her departure, a look over her shoulder revealed him arching his back down to obviously ogle her as she climbed the steps. His exaggeratedly conspicuous gaze made her roll her eyes and laugh as she continued up the stairs, but also put a little more swing into her step. She was only human.

+++

After about an hour’s work, she pulled up Skype and called Sophie. It took a minute, but thankfully she answered.

“Hey, Marine, what’s up?” she asked as soon as her image appeared on the computer screen.

Sophie’s hair was wet, clearly just from the shower, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses.

“Hey, if you have ten minutes, I really need someone to talk through an assignment with, but only if you’re not too busy,” Marinette said.

“I definitely have time right now,” she smiled. “Give me the skinny.”

“Well, it’s a budgeting thing, and I need your accounting wisdom to guide me through the storm,” she replied, running a hand through her glossy black hair in frustration.

“Say no more,” Sophie said with an auspicious air and a wave of the hand, and they were off.

They were all business for a while, fine-tuning a proper understanding of the questions and how to address them in order to get the marks.

They were wrapping up when Pierre, apparently dressed only in the towel around his waist, wandered through the background on Marinette’s screen.

She giggled, and Sophie turned around and told him to make himself decent.

“Sorry, Marine,” she sighed, turning back to the camera. “He’s staying here for the weekend and has no sense of propriety in someone else’s home, apparently. My mum had the fright of her life when he did the exact same thing yesterday. Honestly. Men can be so dumb.”

“No worries,” she laughed. “At least he wears the towel.”

“Sometimes,” Sophie added darkly.

Marinette laughed harder, imagining what trouble her boyfriend must have gotten her into with her parents.

“Boy troubles,” she shook her head sadly, once she’d calmed down. “There’s nothing else quite like them.”

“Ooh,” Sophie perked up, “That sounds like the voice of experience there. Anyone new on the scene?”

Marinette leant out of the way of the camera, gesturing to the pile of Adrien’s clothes and other random items piled on top of her chaise longue, underneath and around it.

“I have a friend staying with me for a couple of weeks,” she said. “I don’t think he has even considered the fact that what he’s got there might be considered a mess or inconvenient.”

“Typical,” Sophie rolled her eyes.

“Isn’t it? Although in fairness, it’s not like I offered closet space, so I suppose options are limited,” Marinette conceded.

Sophie was already shaking her head before she finished the sentence.

“No excuse not to fold stuff up,” she declared. “Besides, who’s this friend? A _special_ friend, perhaps?”

“Not exactly,” Marinette winced. “Like, we were definitely platonic but it’s getting a little blurred, here.”

“Ooh la la, do tell,” she pressed, leaning in with a salacious grin.

“Well, he sort of had a falling out with his parents and I let him stay here for a few days, and it was all very innocent at first,” Marinette said, biting her lip as she decided how much to reveal. 

Sophie probably wouldn’t go reporting things all over Paris, but she obviously didn’t want this somehow getting mentioned to Adrien when one of her friends next spoke to him. She decided to throw caution to the wind and confide in her friend.

“But we went to a party, and he nearly kissed me,” she continued, leaning and lowering her voice. “Then, we went to a club to hear my school friend Nino perform and we kind of made out.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” Sophie burst out. “This most certainly does not sound platonic.”

“But,” Mariniette cut in. “Now we’re kind of back to strongly not-kissing territory. Which is probably for the best, because it’s looking like he’s going to have to stay with family not in Paris.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that sucks,” Sophie said morosely. “You seem like you like this guy, you have this weird look on your face when you talk about him.”

“I guess I do,” she admitted. “Not that it matters. I’ll get over it, I probably won’t see him anymore after he leaves, and it won’t even make a difference how I felt.”

“Don’t say that, Marine,” Sophie chided, surprisingly softly when she was always so amped up about one thing or another. “Of course it matters. It always matters how you feel about someone. It matters to you, it matters to me, and I’m sure it matters to this boy, whether he’s going to move out of Paris or not. Besides, even if he is about to leave, it doesn’t mean you guys can’t go out or something. Call it a fling or go long-distance, but if he’s so great it’ll be worth it.”

“Do you really think so?” Marinette asked doubtfully.

“Yes, for sure,” Sophie nodded emphatically. “Every minute you spend with someone truly special is worth the cost. And even if it doesn’t last, being close to someone is never a waste of time. You can make memories worth having, learn something really important. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” she allowed. She was sure she would gain something if she threw her heart into Adrien’s hands, but she just wasn’t sure it was going to be worth it when the time came that he had to break it.

Pierre appeared in the background again, thankfully clothed.

“Hey, we’re going to be late, _ma cherie_ ,” he said to Sophie, sliding on a jacket as he approached. “Oh, hey Marinette. Nice haircut, I like the fringe.”

“Oh, thanks,” she laughed, surprised he had noticed. “I actually got it a few weeks ago.”

“Oh holy crap!” Sophie shouted. “Dude, I have to go. See you soon, okay, love you, bye!”

And with that rushed farewell, she hung up. Marinette shook her head – she was always late for something.

She cracked her knuckles, closed Skype, and cracked on with her assignment, well aware that deadlines were looming and she had probably already ignored them for too long.

+++

The sun was setting outside her window when someone knocked on her trapdoor.

“Yeah?” she called, swivelling around on her desk chair.

The door swung open, and a sweaty-looking and shirtless Adrien came trudging up the stairs. He was still panting slightly, making her eyes go wide as she took him in. The bronze, glistening skin over the gently heaving musculature of his exposed torso was really quite something to see.

“What happened to you?” she managed to stutter out, trying to be reasonable in the degree of her ogling.

He tiredly tucked a lock of hair that was too short for the elastic that held most of it up behind an ear as he kicked off his sneakers.

“One of the most difficult match-ups I have ever done,” he said, throwing a positively exhausted expression at her as he grabbed a pair of pants. “I had to chase a car on foot for fifteen minutes. At least.”

“What? Why?” she asked, incredulous.

“I’ll explain later,” he said, flapping a hand at her lazily before staggering back downstairs. He left the door open, and she heard him getting a glass of water and heading for the bathroom.

When he returned a quarter of an hour later, she abandoned her homework to watch him drop onto the chaise, limbs akimbo, and lie there lifelessly. He was barefoot and shirtless, mouth hanging open slightly as he stared at the ceiling, clearly totally clapped-out.

She walked over and folded herself onto a large cushion she dropped on the floor, near his head.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, anticipation in her voice. She ran her eyes over his graceful profile and sleepy eyes as she waited for the story.

“Well, I was hanging out in the bakery, and a woman came in, ready as they come to meet someone very important,” he said, closing his eyes as he started his tale. “I could tell this one was going to make a huge positive impact on her life. Very exciting, and clearly in need of a little push in the right direction. So, I followed her out. I followed her around town for about an hour. Lingerie. Designer shoes. Illicit drugs. The shopping spree from hell.”

Marinette giggled at his melodrama. Tired as he was, though, there was no malice in his voice, no resentment for the woman who had unknowingly dragged him all over town.

“Basically, I finally spotted her other half, as it were, and all that was left to do was to nudge them a little, get them talking,” he continued. “But sometimes things just don’t work out the way you plan. The girl got in a car, I had no idea where she was headed and we were in such a crowded part of town I couldn’t get onto the roofs to use my wings, so I just had to run after her. And run. And run.”

“Aww,” she soothed, sympathetically patting his wet hair. She retreated to playing with the ends gently as he went on.

“Eventually she got out, and I found out her address. It took half an hour to get back to where I’d seen her mother, then another hour to track her down again –”

“Wait, her mother?” Marinette interrupted.

“Yes, her mother,” Adrien frowned. “Her birth-mother. She was adopted, as it happens.”

“And you were reuniting them?” she clarified.

“Yes,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her. “What is it?”

She blinked, her focus drifting slightly with him so close, so intoxicatingly close and kissable.

“Oh, uh, it’s just that I thought you only helped people fall in love, or whatever,” she said, more breathy than she meant to be.

He hummed in response, languidly blinking at her as he stretched his long body, getting comfortable.

“Usually, I do,” he said, his voice quiet and a little throaty. “Society places a lot of importance on a spouse or partner, more than any one other relationship most of the time. Therefore, that one person affects how you feel and act more than any other person can. They can shape and change your identity and world view. Therefore, that’s normally what I help bring into people’s lives.”

Marinette nodded in understanding, and he went on.

“Souls are funny things, and they can be calling out for a lot of different things, telling a lot of stories all at once. I don’t run around making sure people look for a job they might like better, or encourage them to see their friends more often, because they’re just small changes that won’t really affect the balance of things,” he explained. “I’m looking for big picture moments. When a soul is crying out for another. And that’s usually because they belong together, in the biblical sense, but is sometimes more uncommon, like a mother and the daughter she had to give up for adoption at birth.”

“Did you bring them together?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied simply, smiling slowly.

She smiled back, resting her chin on the chaise in front of him, and they simply looked at each other.

He opened his mouth to speak, but just then Sabine popped her head up through the hole in the floor.

“Your father’s just about done making dinner, so once you’ve finished up here, come down and eat,” she said before disappearing again.

+++

Marinette did a little more homework after dinner, preparing for class on Monday, while Adrien helped her parents clean up downstairs and got ready for bed.

When he came back into her bedroom, he immediately climbed onto her mezzanine and under the covers, clearly exhausted. His breathing was even and deep almost instantly, a quiet metronome to her studying. After a while, she quietly shut down her computer, headed downstairs to brush her teeth, and flicked off all the lights.

As she approached her bed, she paused to admire Adrien once again. His face was totally relaxed in his sleep, the picture of ease and security, bathed in ambient light from the city and the moon slanting in through her skylight. The shadows on his cheekbones and the hollow of his throat were something out of a vintage photograph: timeless, elegant, perfect in that soft and slightly fuzzy way.

She eased back the covers and slid into bed beside him, lying on her side to face him, and thought about their options.

The way Sophie had put it, they had three. One, have a brief and passionate love affair up until the moment Adrien had to leave, and then treasure the memories but move on. Two, have a more standard love affair while he was here, and then a long-distance relationship thereafter. Not that Sophie was to know, but this would presumably involve frequent prayer on Marinette’s part, and maybe sporadic visitations from on high whenever Adrien could drop by. And the third choice, of course, was to somewhat uneasily skate by – on the fence between friends and lovers – trying desperately not to fall for romance personified, and then try not to be overcome with regret for every remaining waking minute of her life thereafter.

Neither of the latter two was particularly attractive.

Maybe this was Adrien was talking about. The passion, the memories, the way his presence in her life had already changed the way she saw the world and the people in it. The time he had spent in her home was something she was going to remember for a long time. He made her think that it just might be worth the risk.

Adrien slept on, perfectly straight nose inhaling perfectly even breaths, in and out, unaware of the thoughts spinning through the head on the pillow next to his. But he had to be like that; he went on, the same as always, while the regular people muddled their way through their lives, stirring up their own little chaos.

Right now, he was at the centre of hers.

She slid forwards, gently, nudging her head under his chin, folding herself against his side. While he was here, he was making chaos too, and however briefly, she was at the centre of his.


	15. Sob-Story

The next morning saw Marinette leading Adrien back to the university campus for a 10am lecture. Between leaving the underground and arriving, however, Adrien froze mid-step, staring at something beyond Marinette.

“Adrien?” she prompted curiously. He didn’t look away from whatever was behind her, so she followed his eye-line to the small gap between two shop fronts. It probably led to a small service lane behind them. Standing in the narrow space, though, was a woman.

She was tall and slender, with eyes bluer than any Marinette had ever seen. Her thick blonde hair waved to her waist, ending in perfect curls. Her spotless white jeans and expensive-looking ensemble looked distinctly out of place loitering in-between a kebab shop and a cake-decorating supplies outlet.

The woman tilted her head in acknowledgement when Marinette met her haughty gaze.

Wordlessly, Adrien walked to the woman, and Marinette jogged after him. The woman led them farther into the dingy, claustrophobic space.

Glossy lips stretched into a smile that seemed distinctly self-satisfied.

Marinette knew already that she didn’t like this person, whoever she was.

“Hello, Adrien,” she greeted saccharinely. “It’s been a while.”

“Chloé. What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding relieved but caught by surprise.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then cut a look at Marinette, who stood slightly behind Adrien’s lanky form. The walkway was too narrow for her to fit beside him.

“Maybe this conversation should be held in privacy?” she suggested, tossing her hair.

“You know she’s trustworthy,” he said flatly. Chloé rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she said, hand waving dismissively. “Obviously, I have a message for you.”

“I’m guessing this girl is like you,” Marinette cut in, looking up at Adrien.

“Chloé is a messenger angel. Tasked with delivering messages to Earth, of course, but also gifted with the Sight. Messengers receive visions of the future, of things that should or should not occur, and things that will,” he explained.

Marinette scoffed. “I could take a stab in the dark too. Should, should not, will. Doesn’t sound very specific,” she grumbled. She wasn’t normally rude, but Chloé started it and was already getting on her biggest nerve.

“Not that it’s any of _your_ business, but it’s actually very complex. It takes a fine eye to determine whether a vision is the right or wrong path, how and when to avert or ensure the outcome. Some things are guaranteed, though. Will happen. No question, no way to change it,” Chloé sniffed, clearly put out. “I must say, I’m no longer much inclined to help you. But you’ll see. At exactly thirteen minutes past eight, tonight, lightening will strike close by.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Marinette raised an eyebrow.

Chloé’s eyes flashed. “It will be very important. Remember that, baker girl.”

“Marinette. Chloé wouldn’t be here if she didn’t have something vital to tell me,” Adrien admonished. The _‘be quiet’_ was clear in his tone.

The blonde girl threw Marinette one last superior look before she focused on her fellow angel.

“Adrien. You know you are here because you have been tasked with an assignment only you can complete. You must look to your past to right a wrong, and prevent the consequences from finally coming to bear on the world at large. There is a mortal who is to turn down a dark path if you do not keep them in the light,” she said, voice ominous.

“My past?” he frowned. “Someone I didn’t bring love when I should have?”

Chloé’s serious demeanour broke when she clicked her tongue in annoyance. “No,” she rolled her eyes. “Not what you’ve done. I’m talking about your past – where you come from. Where you began.”

“My mortal past,” he gasped. “Nothing good ever comes from trying to find out who we were born to. You know that.”

“There is a rumour,” she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice, “that your death was not ordained. A guardian angel somehow failed in their duty, and this is what brought about your ascension.”

“What does that mean?” he asked urgently. “Chloé, what am I supposed to do?”

But Chloé was backing away from them, an unearthly quality coming over her skin. She began to glow: bright, warm light seeping out of her pores. Her eyes closed, and when they opened again they shone the purest light Marinette had ever seen, and she held a hand up to shield her vision.

“Look to your past, Adrien. Only you can soothe the pain of a mother’s loss,” came words from where Chloé stood, but they sounded no longer like they were being spoken by a human being. It was like a loud ringing in Marinette’s ears, like the kind she got after a rock concert had damaged her hearing, but somehow shaped into words.

The light flared to a brightness that made her turn away and screw her eyes shut, and then began to fade rapidly. When she looked back, no one stood on the damp pavement before them. Chloé was gone.

The two of them stood there for a long moment. Marinette broke the silence.

“Wow,” she drew out in a bemused tone.

“Yeah,” Adrien said.

There was nothing else to be done, so they set off towards the university again.

“So,” she started. “How do we find out who your parents are?”

He ran his hands through his hair roughly. “I don’t know,” he said. “We’re all told never to look for them. I guess they’ll be obvious once I find them, but they could be anyone. They could be anywhere!”

“But wouldn’t they be nearby?” she pointed out. “Why would they have sent you to Paris to stop them from becoming bad people or whatever if they weren’t in the area?”

He took a steadying breath. “You’re right. I suspect they have something to do with the company you work for. Or the woman I followed out of there,” he said.

They were quiet, thinking about the problem that lay ahead as they climbed the stairs to Marinette’s lecture. He followed her as she sought out her friends, smiling at them but mostly keeping to his brooding as the lecture started.

She threw a furtive look at Thomas beside her to make sure he wasn’t looking, and scribbled a note on the edge of her page. She nudged Adrien and slid her notebook closer.

_Is Adrien your real name?_

He looked confused when she glanced up at him, so she added another line.

_Do you know what your parents named you when you were born?_

He slipped her pen out of her hand.

_We keep the given name we are born with, but I don’t know what my surname was._

She nodded in understanding, but didn’t write a reply when he returned her pen. She tried to focus on taking notes, but she was turning ideas over in the back of her mind.

When the class ended, she hurried out a goodbye to her friends and pushed Adrien towards the door. She dragged him to a picnic table outside, in a small garden that was empty due to the chill hanging in the air, promising rain.

She slid onto the bench beside him and pulled out her tablet.

“If your real name is Adrien, maybe we can find you online,” she said excitedly. “If your parents put an obituary, or a birth notice, in a newspaper, maybe we can find it.”

He blinked, and then grinned down at her. “You’re a genius, Marinette!” he laughed, squeezing her with an arm around her shoulders.

“So, what do you know about when you were born?” she asked, opening up a web search.

“We don’t really do birthdays, or keep track of how old we are exactly,” he shrugged. “But we age the way we would as mortals. If I had to guess, I say I was born a bit over two decades ago.”

She nodded. “You definitely look like you’re about the same age as me, and I’m twenty-one,” she said, setting up advanced filters on her search. She limited the results to a year and a half either side of her own birthday, to Paris, and to including the name Adrien.

Not surprisingly, several hundred results, births and deaths, came up.

“It’ll take ages to sift through all these,” she groaned. Opening a new tab, she looked for deaths from that period including the words ‘Adrien’ and ‘baby.’

The top several results weren’t simple obituaries, but proper articles. The first headline read ‘Tragedy Strikes: Infant Son of Gabriel and Emilie Agreste Killed in Accident.’ With shaking fingers, Marinette clicked through to the article.

 _Shockwaves travelled throughout France today as darling celebrity couple, designer Gabriel Agreste and actress Emilie Agreste, were struck by tragedy. The couple were travelling to their Paris home with newborn son Adrien when their car was struck from the side. Initial reports suggest the public bus ran a red light. A source claiming to have been a passenger on the bus told_ The Herald _that the driver appeared to have suffered some kind of seizure at the wheel._

_Despite emergency respondents’ attempts to revive the two-day-old boy at the scene, he was declared dead en route to Our Lady of Sorrow Hospital in the fifth arrondissement._

_It is believed neither of the parents sustained serious injuries._

The grainy picture at the foot of the brief report showed Gabriel with his arm around his wife. She looked completely shocked, staring in silent horror at a pair of paramedics who stooped over a gurney. He pressed a hand over his mouth. Though apparently taken with an early camera phone from some distance, the distraught appearance of the couple was more than clear.

Marinette brought up a photo of the pair of them on the red carpet, only then looking up at Adrien. There was no denying the resemblance. He had his mother’s golden hair, the strength of his father’s face but her kind mouth.

“Adrien,” she said softly, placing a hand on his. “Do you think this is them?”

His fingers clutched hers as he nodded in silence. She tentatively rubbed circles on his back, and he pulled her close in a tight hug.

“What a terrible story,” she said.

“This is why they tell us not to look,” he said dully. “They’re always terrible.”

She nodded. She didn’t speak until he took a deep breath and pulled back.

“The question now is, what is happening to them now, and what does it have to do with my death twenty-two years ago?” he mused.

The first few raindrops began to fall, and she hurried to stow her tablet back in her bag.

“Any ideas?” she asked as they jogged towards the nearest entrance.

“A couple,” he answered, the playful edge creeping back into his forest green eyes.

+++

Marinette rushed home when class finished at four. She would have to hurry to get ready and make it to the conference centre where the information session was being held by five.

Adrien was waiting for her in her bedroom, having disappeared several hours ago to follow one of the staff members they had passed at the university.

“Close your eyes, I need to get changed,” she ordered by way of greeting.

He flopped back on the chaise and placed a pillow over his face obediently.

“How did it go with the guy from campus?” she asked as she dug through her drawers for a pencil skirt.

“Not pretty,” he groaned, muffled by the pink velvet throw pillow. “He was already married, but I think I broke them up.”

She froze. “You _what_?” she gasped.

He sat up, dropping the pillow but keeping his eyes shut. He faced her direction and pulled a face, which was distinctly odd with his eyes closed.

“Not happily married. I’m sure they had their good times, but they clearly don’t make each other happy anymore,” he shrugged.

She just stared.

“Marinette. Not all the people that I help to find each other stay together. You know relationships end, couples divorce. People who made each other’s lives worth living drift apart,” he said, resigned. “Nothing lasts forever, and if it doesn’t last until you die, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth doing at all. Even a match can light up a room for a little while.”

She didn’t say anything, sorting through her clothes for a blouse in silence. He had a point, but it was beyond bizarre to think an Angel of Love would come to Earth to break up someone’s marriage.

“So what now?” she asked finally.

“Well now that the wheels are in motion, when he’s ready, I think he’ll go for it,” he said simply, but his tone was bittersweet.

Marinette sighed. He had been right when he had described humans as chaotic.

“Okay, I’m decent,” she said as she slid on a pair of glossy black heels. Blouse and skirt of her own design, black blazer, tights and heels. She looked formal and businesslike. She was ready.

She grabbed the folder she had prepared last night with some samples of her work, her resumé and contact details, and slotted it into place in her bag.

“Okay, I have to head out,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”

She headed for the stairs, and he got up to follow. He wandered after her as she called a hurried goodbye to her parents, and then out into the hallway.

“Where are you going?” she asked, tossing a wary glance at him over her shoulder as she started down the stairs.

“I’m coming with you,” he said, blinking as though surprised she would even ask.

She looked him up and down. Blue jeans with a few rips, black tee, hoodie and an army jacket. Did he look good? Yes. Did he look designer? Absolutely. Did he look corporate-networking-event appropriate? Not even close.

“Uh, no offence, Adrien, but you’re not really invited,” she pointed out.

“Oh, I know. I’m not going to go inside,” he laughed brightly. “I’ll just walk you there and then take a look around.”

“If you’re going to be loitering, then we’re splitting up before we get close to the building,” she said dubiously.

He shrugged in agreement. They didn’t even try to keep up the conversation as they were filtered onto the train through the gates that held back the insistent press of the peak-time crowds. They rode the train in the pervasive, brusque silence of the professional commuters that surrounded them, but Adrien’s casually gorgeous and effortlessly cool appearance made him seem out of place as he leant easily against a divider.

As they bustled off the train and up to street level, she threw him a concerned look.

“I don’t know if Monsieur Agreste will be there,” she said.

He hummed in acknowledgement, but offered no meaningful reply.

“What are you going to do if he is?” she prodded.

“Probably nothing, yet,” he said. “I don’t know what is wrong with the two of them, so I don’t know how to fix it.”

She nodded. Made sense.

As the building came into sight, she stopped, and Adrien pulled up beside her.

“Okay, give me a head start,” she said. “And I’m telling you now, I’m going to pretend I don’t know you, if it comes down to it.” The warning look she pinned him with was grave, but he only laughed.

“Don’t worry, Marinette. I won’t embarrass you,” he promised, placing a hand on her shoulder.

He stared down at her, smiling green eyes and perfectly white teeth, as gorgeous as ever. She looked past his handsome veneer, at the person inside. She knew he was confused, worried about what was to come and what he would have to do. Yet, he was determined, confident, and as positive as ever. Their gazes were locked, and his smile grew softer as he looked at her.

She got up on her toes, holding onto him for balance, and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.

“Good luck, Adrien,” she whispered. She pulled back slightly, and for a moment they faced one another, breathing the same air.

And then, with a final smile, she strode resolutely towards the building where her future waited. The symbolism wasn’t lost on her; she would appreciate the time she had with him while he was with her, but she had to accept that one day she would have to leave him behind and move on. And that was sad, but didn’t make the time she spent with him any less meaningful.

She clutched nervously at the strap of her handbag as she approached with faltering steps. She cast a look over her shoulder, but Adrien had disappeared already. She knew he was nearby, though. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and marched inside to chase her dream.

+++

Two hours later, Marinette left the conference room with a giddy smile and several pages of notes stowed safely in her bag. The program sounded amazing, and she was already playing with a few ideas for the sample pieces she would have to submit with her application.

Filing out with the other hopefuls, she stopped and cast about for any sign of Adrien. She couldn’t see him in the lobby, and headed out to the street to look for him there. Nothing.

She leant against the external wall of the building, recoiling to stand upright when she realised the stone was not just cool, but damp from the intermittent rain.

Pulling out her phone, she opened her conversation with Adrien and started to compose a text, when someone tall sidled up to her.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“There you are,” she rolled her eyes. “What have you been up to?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Just looking around.”

“Gabriel Agreste was here,” she reported. “He gave a speech but left halfway through; apparently he had an important meeting.”

Adrien nodded. “I know, I saw him leave,” he said. “He’s definitely at the centre of all of this, whatever ‘this’ is.”

“And?”

“There’s a lot going on with him, but I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it,” he huffed, raking a hand through his hair.

“So, what now?” she frowned.

He perked up, smiling brightly as inspiration lit his eyes. “There is one place that might shed some light on the situation,” he grinned.

“Where?” she asked tentatively.

His grin widened, and she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like where this took the pair of them.


	16. Criminal

“How are you able to do this?” she hissed, trying not to look suspicious as they circled around the tall fence. “Breaking and entering must be a sin.”

“There’s no malice, we’re not going to steal anything or hurt anyone,” he murmured as they slipped around the back of the mansion. “Why would it be?”

There was a small service lane, running between the stone walls of the Agreste property and the property behind it. It was well-lit, even at eight o’clock at night, but there was only one security camera, and it was pointed at the digitised gate.

“There’s no way we can break through that gate,” she whispered, grabbing his arm to stop him going any closer, “and we’ll be caught on camera if we do.”

“We’re not going through there,” he smiled, drawing closer to the fence and linking his fingers together.

She eyed the wall dubiously, then him. “I doubt a boost is going to get me over the top,” she said sceptically. It had to be twice her height.

“Just trust me,” he encouraged.

With a shrug, she stepped up to him and placed one foot in his hands, balancing easily with hands on his shoulders.

“One, two, three,” he counted, and she hopped up to put her weight on him. He didn’t stagger, easily taking her weight, and raised his clasped hands slightly.

“Put a foot on my shoulder,” he instructed, and she obeyed, bracing her hands against the wall. He steadied her with one hand on her foot and the other on her calf as she balanced on his shoulders.

“I’m not high enough,” she said. She could only just reach the top of the wall with her fingers – not enough to pull herself up.

She bit back a squeak of fear as he lifted her over his head, but tried to calm herself with the memory of him easily restraining a struggling man all on his own. He definitely had the strength to hold a short, co-operative woman up for a few seconds.

She was able to get her arms over the top of the wall, carefully bracing to jump from his hold, and pulled herself up onto the top.

“What can you see?” Adrien called.

“Just a courtyard and the back of the house,” she replied.

“Anyone in the windows?”

She scanned them, but most of the lights were off and there was no sign of movement. “No, I don’t think so,” she answered. Satisfied that the coast was relatively clear, she swung a leg up to sit on the fence more securely.

“I don’t think I can pull you up,” she said, trying not to freak out as she looked back down at Adrien. It was a long way down to the hard ground, and her position was too precarious to hold his weight, even if he could reach her hand.

He nodded, looking around for witnesses, and then back at her. He slipped out of his coat, and then the over-shirt he wore underneath. He left the coat folded on the ground, under the meagre shelter of a tree canopy that reached out from the courtyard. He tied the flannel shirt around his waist, and then stripped off his t-shirt and threw in on top of the coat. He shivered in the cold.

Before she could open her mouth to ask what the hell he was doing, he threw one last look around, and unfolded his wings. She stared in wonder once again, as the lines of his tattoo slid across his skin like living shadows, and then burst into three dimensions, becoming raven-black and undeniably real.

He crouched, then jumped, flapping his huge wings a few times. He easily caught onto the fence, tucking his wings behind him so as not to knock her off with the down-draught. He deftly pulled himself up to crouch on the wall, scoping out the yard and then the building.

“There are probably motion sensors and cameras near the door,” she said. “A place like this definitely has fancy security.”

He nodded.

“We should try the roof,” he said.

“How are we going to… oh no,” she froze. “Tell me you’re not thinking…”

He just grinned. He stood, wings spreading slightly for balance, and leapt over her head to reach her back. He crouched, sliding his arms around her waist. She clutched his bare forearms, noting the chill on his skin. He had to be freezing, half naked on a cold and wet night.

“Adrien,” she warned, but didn’t get the chance to go any further.

He pulled her up, and she let out a shriek as they balanced atop the wall. She clamped a hand over her mouth, smothering the scream that would have deafened the pair of them as he yanked her off the wall and dived into the courtyard.

His gleaming wings easily cut through the air, though, and they glided smoothly toward the house. He beat them, climbing to reach the roof. It was fascinating, she had to admit, to feel the air slide around them, bearing them upwards, and the pressure created by each flap.

It took about three seconds to reach the top of the grand building, where he dropped neatly to his feet and set her down carefully. Were her heart not trying to escape her ribcage, she might have stopped to enjoy the beautiful view of Paris at night. As it was, she dug her fingers into Adrien’s arms, now loose around her, and tried to calm down.

A fat raindrop landed on her nose.

“Adrien, we have to hurry,” she said. “Once it starts raining, it’s going to be awfully slippery up here.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said confidently, pulling away once she let go of him and looking for a way into the house.

“Uh, not all of us are indestructible,” she pointed out, carefully picking her way across the almost-flat top of the roof. Boy, was she glad she had put on the flats she carried in her bag before this. She’d be dead by now in her heels. “If I slip and fall off a four-storey building, I’m toast.”

“I promise I’ll catch you if you fall,” he placated. “Okay, it looks like the best way in is going to be a window.”

The top row of windows protruded from the steep façade of the roof, and Adrien clambered down to the guttering to investigate one of them. She cast a nervous look at the mansion behind the Agreste one. If someone happened to look out one of the rear windows, they couldn’t fail to notice the people on the roof.

There was a rumble of thunder, and the few spatters of rain rapidly became a downpour.

“Adrien, I think we should get out of here!” she called, hunching forward and hoping her coat kept the phone tucked in her blazer pocket dry. “It’s getting dangerous, and there’s lightning!”

He didn’t reply, preoccupied with trying to slide the window up. He paused thoughtfully, squinting at the glass, and then straightened from his awkward stoop. If she hoped he would agree and get her down, she was disappointed. He walked along the gutter like a tightrope, arms swinging this way and that for balance and wings half extended, water sheeting off the glossy black feathers. Surely he didn’t intend to try every window.

Lightning struck again, closer this time, lighting up the sky for a moment before the deafening crash made her cover her ears.

Suddenly, she recalled their meeting with Chloé that morning. She had said that lightning would strike at exactly thirteen minutes past eight that night.  Peeking at her watch, she gasped. Ten past. In three minutes, lightning would strike nearby, and apparently that was important. Were they in danger of being hit? Was she going to die? If she was, she was going to throw down with Chloé the minute she arrived in Heaven.

“Adrien!” she shouted, desperate to be heard over the bucketing rain that was only growing heavier. He didn’t look up from pulling on the window frame. Growling in frustration, she got down and used her hands to steady her as she made her way quickly and carefully down to him, heart in her throat. He would notice if she slipped and went tumbling over the edge. She had to believe he would catch her.

She grabbed his arm as she braced herself between the stone outcropping that housed the window and the guttering.

“Adrien, remember what Chloé said? Lightning is going to strike in two minutes, and she said it would be important. What if it’s because we’re going to get hit?” she said desperately, her fingers digging into the slick skin of his bicep as she spoke.

He stared at her, considering her theory with an appropriate sense of urgency. Then he shook his head.

“If you were in mortal danger, there would be a guardian angel around here. It’s not your time to die,” he said with an air of surety she didn’t find all that comforting.

“Yeah? Well, where’s the angel of B&E? I feel like you’ve been given responsibilities outside your portfolio already, and it’s not much of a stretch that the man upstairs would expect you to keep me alive, especially when it’s your fault I’m in danger,” she argued.

“The windows are all locked,” he said.

“Then let’s get out of here,” she urged.

“Chloé would have warned me if you were to be hit by lightning,” he insisted. “So why would she tell us when one of several flashes would be?”

Marinette crossed her arms, shivering from the cold and the wet, but thought about the question.

“Maybe so we can smash the glass at the right time, without being heard?” she suggested.

He looked at her and smiled. “That’s it!” he laughed. “I’d rather not do any damage, but I suppose if there’s anyone who can afford to fix a window, it’s this couple.”

She looked at her watch again. “One minute,” she said.

“Stand back,” he warned, and she shuffled away delicately.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up at the crackle of energy in the hair. There was a shift, the indescribable sensation of a build-up, and then a bolt of white hot electricity streaked down from the angry black clouds, lancing into a tree in the neighbour’s garden and exploding into chips of wood. The scent of burning reached Marinette’s nose, but no flames could linger in the downpour.

The moment that the blinding light lit up the area, Adrien sent his fist straight through the pane of glass. The shattering sound was completely drowned out by the lightning, just as they had planned.

He threw her a triumphant smile, gripping the top of the frame and swinging one leg into the space within, kicking out some of the remaining glass. She giggled despite herself at the way he knocked his wings on the frame and had to wiggle them about to fit through. Once he was inside, he leant out, reaching for her.

She edged closer, grabbing his arms and letting him hold her steady. He pulled her through the window frame, her feet crunching on shards of broken glass. Once she was safely inside, he turned his attention to his right hand, a few pieces of glass embedded in his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he gingerly pulled them free and dropped them to the floor, breathing a sigh of relief when he got the last one out. She just tried not to feel queasy.

The room they were in was plain; fairly small, sloped ceiling, painted cream, and left unfurnished. If she had had to guess, she would have said that it used to be a servant’s quarters.

“They might use one of these old rooms like an attic?” she suggested quietly.

Adrien nodded. She headed to the door, opening it slowly with a creak from the unused hinges. He paused to stow away his wings, his large tattoos reappearing before he tugged on his saturated shirt from around his waist.

Marinette peaked into a darkened hallway. There was no sign of movement, and the air smelt a little dusty, like it hadn’t been disturbed recently.

She swung the door wider, pulling out her phone to use as a torch. They crept down the corridor, peeking into rooms as they went. One held a bunch of seasonal decorations that were awaiting their time of year, another held a random assortment of furniture and scores of folding chairs. Two held assorted sewing supplies and blank banners and a million other things related to the fashion trade, and though she was tempted to rifle through quickly, they kept moving. The next held a bunch of cardboard boxes, conveniently labelled in black permanent marker.

“This could be something,” she murmured, leading him into the room.

It looked like they were storing old clothes, souvenirs not interesting enough for display in the main part of the house, and old papers.

“Do you think we should look through these?” she asked.

Adrien shook his head. “I don’t think it will help,” he said. “Whatever is happening right now, I don’t think we can work it out looking at old documents. We need more recent clues.”

“How do you propose that we do that?” she grimaced.

He gave her an apologetic look and jerked his head at the door. She sighed and followed him past the last few rooms, and down the servants’ staircase to the floor below. He peeked out into the much grander upstairs corridor. Most of the lights were off and there was no sign of the house’s occupants.

He crept into the hall, and she followed despite her better judgement. It was one thing tiptoeing about the part of the house that clearly saw infrequent use, but the open spaces of the minimalist mansion, with few hiding places and a high chance of being caught? Bad idea.

Marinette was always a sucker for a bad idea with a good reason. Maybe it was her good luck alone that had kept her out of this kind of thing up until then.

They sneaked along until they came to a study. It looked like Gabriel Agreste’s home office, with sketches and photos and swatches all about.

“Chloé said that someone was headed down a dark path, right?” she whispered. “So maybe we should be looking for evidence of, like, money laundering or something?”

He looked around the room thoughtfully, and then shook his head resolutely. “No,” he said. “Whatever the problem is, his business has nothing to do with it.”

They left the office, but as they crept towards a grand staircase that led down to the ground floor, the sound of the front door being unlocked and opened made them freeze.

From where they stood, they could see a woman in a classic trench coat come in, shaking her umbrella before shutting the door behind her. She put her umbrella and damp coat on the hatstand, fluffing out blonde hair that waved just past her shoulders.

Emilie Agreste. She looked, to Marinette’s surprise, just like she did onscreen, just like her character _Clemence_ in _The Bend._ It was one of Marinette’s favourite movies, and she’d seen it five times. She had always imagined she would seem different somehow in the flesh, but there she was. Right there. In her house. Unaware that there were intruders spying on her.

She took two steps farther into the house, but paused when her phone rang. She pulled it out of the pocket of her jeans, looking at the screen. She deliberated, sighed, and put it back in its place. It continued to ring, but she ignored it.

Instead, she looked around the cavernous space in which she stood. With another listless huff, she ambled through a doorway, and was gone.

A moment passed, and then Adrien made to creep down the stairs.

Marinette’s eyes bugged out and she lunged for him, digging into his arm.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she demanded in the quietest whisper she could manage.

“We should follow her,” he whispered back, as though it were obvious.

She shook her head wildly. “We should not follow her. If there is one thing I’m sure of, it’s that we should definitely not do that,” she said. “Can’t we just snoop in their bedroom or something?”

“That’s not going to tell us much,” he snorted. “We should see what she does. She seems down.”

“Counter-proposal: we go home and google her instead. Read celebrity gossip about her,” she tried.

He just looked at her.

“Adrien, I’m serious. If someone finds us, my life is ruined. Please, let’s _go_ ,” she pleaded.

“Why don’t you go back to the window where we came in. I’ll have a bit more of a look around, then come get you,” he suggested. It seemed like that was the best offer he was going to make.

“Fine,” she scowled. “But I am going to be so mad if you get caught.”

He gave her a confident smile, as if to promise that he wouldn’t get in trouble. She rolled her eyes and turned back the way they came.

Her stomach was in knots, nerves making her feel sick, but she made it back to the empty attic room without incident, mostly closing the door behind her.

Once there, though, she realised she had nothing to do but sit there like a chump, waiting for Adrien to come back, or to get arrested. She stood there for a minute or so, and then pulled out her phone. She scrolled through Facebook, making sure the sound was totally off, but was too anxious to really see what was on the screen.

She bit her lip, and decided she had to vent. She pulled up her chat with Alya.

_Dude, I can’t say what but I am doing something so dodgy right now. I feel like I’m going to faint, I don’t want to be here._

She saw her friend open the message and start typing immediately.

 _Is it sex-related?_ Ayla wrote.

 _NO!_ Marinette wrote back. She wished it were that simple.

 _Damn,_ came the reply.

 _I mean like seriously dodgy. Like, I feel like I’m going to throw up, this could ruin my life,_ she typed.

 _Can you get out of there? Omg?_ Alya sent back.

 _I’m waiting for Adrien to come get me so we can leave,_ she answered.

 _Adrien??? I can’t believe that boy would get you into something sus? He seems too pure,_ Alya wrote.

Marinette sighed, deliberating what to say. _He didn’t mean to put me in a difficult position, it’s like he doesn’t even realise it’s problematic,_ she explained. _It’s to do with his parents, so it’s all pretty complicated._

They texted back and forth for a while, until the door began to swing inwards. She jumped, adrenaline spiking through her system.

Adrien’s blonde mop peeked around the door.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She let out a large breath in relief. “Oh my God, it’s you,” she sighed. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah, we can leave,” he smiled. She stowed her phone, and they peered out the empty window frame, through the rain.

“Coast looks clear,” she said, biting her lip.

Adrien removed his shirt again, ducking through the frame and unfurling his wings once balanced at the edge of the roof. He reached through and helped lift her out, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her in front of him. She took a deep breath and braced herself before he jumped off the building again. The swooping of her stomach as they sliced through the air was terrifying, yet thrilling in its own way.

He beat his wings a few times to soar across the garden and over the wall, leaning back to slow down and spiral back to the ground.

He set her down on shaky legs, letting her lean back into him for a minute. She took a deep breath, trying to relax a little. They were out. She was no longer committing a crime with every breath, and she swore to herself right then and there that she would under no circumstances accompany Adrien or anyone else into any situation of dubious morality or legality.

She was still encircled in Adrien’s arms, and when he brought his great black wings forward, she felt a strange current run over her skin, one that had nothing to do with the press of bare skin or the chill of her wet clothes. Water beaded and rolled off his feathers as he brought them back towards his body. That unique snap of electricity in the air surged in the air around them, making her skin tingle and her teeth buzz. The moment the huge wings moved out of her field of vision, a shiver ran through her. For a moment, she had the most bizarre sensation, sort of floaty, as if his hands could pass right through her, as if she could pass through solid objects herself.

A moment later, and it was gone, and she felt normal again, Adrien’s breathing pressing into her back and his forearms placed solidly over her ribs.

“I think I’m good,” she said, and he slowly let her go and moved away. He snagged his t-shirt from the ground where he’d left it, pulling it on, adding the shirt around his waist and then the marginally drier jacket. His clothes dripped water, falling to the ground with the rain, and clung to his skin. He looked soaked to the bone, and while she was certainly wet herself, she was faring far better than he.

 _Serves him right for dragging me into this,_ Marinette thought a little meanly. She knew he was only trying to help his long-lost parents before they blew up the Earth or whatever it was that the miracle crew was worried about. Even so, he was asking too much of her to join in with the housebreaking.

“Let’s get home before we get busted,” she said, taking the sopping cuff of his jacket and dragging him out of the alley and towards home.


	17. Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes some sexual content. This section is italicised and can be skipped.

Once the pair of them were sitting on the floor in her room, showered and changed into dry clothes, she broached the question.

“So,” she started, too chipper to cover the awkwardness she was feeling, “What did you find out about your – well, the Agrestes?”

Adrien gave her a long, steady look that made her uncomfortable, like he was seeing something that normal people couldn’t. She brought the towel she held up to ruffle through her hair, blocking his view.

“Well, it doesn’t look like they’re happy,” he sighed. “No sign of Gabriel, even as late as we left, and she didn’t talk to anyone – friends, family. She ate alone, then just kept looking at different TV channels. And she just reverberated this deep, cold, emptiness. Like she ran out of sadness but doesn’t have anything left to put in its place.”

“Oh,” she replied, not sure what else she could say. Tears stung behind her eyes, but she willed herself not to let them fall. Tentatively, she added, “Do you know why she’s so depressed?”

She had a good guess.

He sighed again, looking rather downcast. Hopelessness was a new look on him, and not one she cared for.

“Her soul is reaching out for two things. Her husband, who by rights should be well within reach, and her son, who she knows she can’t have, but she misses anyway,” he answered, roughly rubbing at his forehead. He scowled, and he looked so frustrated and at sea that she couldn’t bear it.

Dropping her towel, she crawled over to where he sat cross-legged and perched herself in his lap. He blinked those wide green eyes at her in surprise, almost catlike in his bemused gaze. She wrapped the arm closer to him around his shoulders, bumping his bicep playfully with her other hand.

“Don’t worry, Adrien,” she smiled. “This is what you’re good at, what you _do_ ; stalking people and solving their deep-seated issues. Even Chloé, who seems like a real piece of work if you don’t mind my saying, believes you’ll work this out.”

He laughed at that, dropping his arms around her waist in a loose embrace.

“She’s not so bad,” he said mildly. “I think she resents mortals in a way, and disapproves of any degree of mingling.”

“Maybe that’s why she hated me,” Marinette mused, tapping her chin in a show of thoughtfulness.

“It wouldn’t be very angelic to _hate_ you,” he countered. “More like… she didn’t care for your company and is too blunt to hide it.”

“Oh, well, that’s so much better,” she snorted. “Praise the Lord, the agents of the divine only dislike me, can I get a hallelujah?”

“Well, only one,” he corrected. “Besides, I can think of one agent of the divine who likes you very much, so it balances out.”

“Oh you can, can you?” she grinned, looping her arms around his neck.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, fingers trailing softly along the curve of her spine. His eyes dropped to her lips, flicking back up to meet her gaze with a hooded, come-hither look that she was sure she couldn’t have resisted if she tried. Which she didn’t, not even a little bit.A hand came up to caress her jaw as she leant in, Adrien’s dark lashes brushing against his cheekbones as his eyes fluttered closed. Once his soft lips fitted themselves to hers, her brain short-circuited and shut down entirely. Any question of playing it safe with her feelings fell entirely to the wayside as her heart shattered its restraints the second he touched her.

_She wrapped her arms more securely around him, pulling herself as close as she could get, returning the gentle caresses he gave her with a greater sense of urgency. She ran her tongue over his lower lip and he took the hint, opening his mouth and exploring hers with his tongue. He had a particular gentleness about him that she had never experienced before, giving the kiss a luxurious feel that made her want to stay like that forever. The way his deft fingers ran along the skin of her lower back, just under the hem of her hoodie, however, urged her on. She bit at his lip, gently, their movements getting sloppier as they grew more desperate._

_Finally growing frustrated with the way they had to twist with her lying across his lap, he hooked an arm under her knees and one at her back. He stood, making her gasp as she was quickly swooped upwards, and moved to sit on the chaise. Placing her back on his lap in a more vertical position, he made to kiss her again, but she pulled back._

_Hands on his shoulders, she moved to straddle him, one knee either side of his hips. She sat back on his mid-thighs, a concession to the air of innocence that followed him around, kissing him soundly once more._

_He returned her passion animatedly, sucking at her lower lip and swiping at her tongue. One hand wandered farther up her back under her jumper, the other gripped her thigh where her tiny sleep shorts left it exposed. He kneaded her flesh lightly, and she moaned in response._

_She broke away from his mouth, tracing open-mouthed kisses down his neck. She pulled the top of his shirt aside, biting his skin. His hands went to her hips, tugging her closer, and she eagerly co-operated. She tipped her weight forward, pressing the juncture of her legs down onto his crotch, the shape of him against her both a relief, like scratching an itch, and like fuel on the fire of the need to be closer to him._

_He let out a low moan, pressing her down onto him with his hands. She answered his silent request, grinding her hips in a slow arc. His fingers tightened convulsively, but he maintained enough focus to start sucking on the side of her neck._

_Her hands raked through his hair as she rolled against him again. Her eyes fluttered at the way he swirled his tongue against her sensitive skin._

_“Yes, like that,” she murmured, and he repeated the movement. She spread her legs slightly wider, bearing down on him with greater force._

_He returned his mouth to hers, sharing the same air with their heavy breathing. His wide hands slid up against the smooth skin of her ribcage, holding her steady as he rolled his hips up against hers. The friction was sending warm tingles to the tips of her fingers and toes, lending her the confidence to slide a hand up under his t-shirt. Finally, she was running her hand over the most defined set of abs she’d ever seen up close, feeling his lean form undulate as he rubbed his pelvis up against her._

_She withdrew her hand, planning to pull the shirt right off, when she gently bumped it into his erection. Which she already knew was there, obviously, but gave her pause. It suddenly dawned on her that she was either going to have to call time pretty soon, or get up close and personal with Adrien, sans clothing._

And while, theoretically, that was definitely in the ‘yes please’ category of possible events in life, she had no contraception on hand, and doubted he would, and more to the point, she wasn’t sure that was a wise personal choice under the circumstances. The circumstances being, in this case, imminent and certain breakup. She was pretty sure if things went much further than they had already gone, it was going to hurt by an order of magnitude more when he left. And trading in standard-issue heartbreak for mega-uber-heartbreak-2.0 was in her ‘no thank you’ category of possible events in life.

This ran through her mind in one single moment of clarity, less than a second. The rest of the second was spent in an ‘oh dear, what now’ state.

She didn’t say or do anything, but Adrien seemed to pick up on what she was thinking. She had to wonder whether it was because he was just that sensitive, or some kind of angel-magic he pulled by vibing her aura. He gently nudged her back to sit more innocently farther down his lap, retracting his hands from her shirt. One sat lightly on her waist, the other on her cheek as he kissed her sweetly, with a slow and gentle pull that it was almost like falling into a peaceful sleep.

After a moment, he pulled back to look at her. His damp locks were all messed up, somehow still looking like he’d done it that way on purpose, and his lips were slightly swollen and red, making him look just so. That face, those smiling green eyes, belonged on a magazine cover.

He smiled at her, tucking her a lock of still-wet hair behind her ear.

“Tired?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she replied, surprisingly at ease. She had anticipated a far more awkward exit from the situation, but she supposed she should have known he would handle it with grace. “But I have to do a few exercises for Chinese before bed.”

“Do you need any help?” he offered, warm hands softly stroking down her arms to lightly grasp her fingers.

She shook her head. “I think I can manage it,” she declined.

He accepted her answer with a happy nod. “No worries, then. I’ll read quietly so as not to distract you.”

With that, she got to her feet and walked to her desk, digging her Chinese exercise book out from the pile. She heard Adrien rustling around in his ever-growing pile of everything he owned, then the sound of him thumbing through a book as he got comfortable, then nothing bar the periodical page turn.

They left each other in peace for about ten minutes, until Marinette had to admit she could use his help.

“Hey, Adrien,” she said, swivelling her chair.

“Yeah?”

“I can’t get this to make sense,” she admitted. “I swear this says ‘If you are wise, pull me at the running for now’ and I am positive that is not right.”

“I doubt it, yeah,” he laughed, setting aside his book. He leant over her shoulder to read the printout. “You were actually kind of close, it’s sort of an idiom. It means something like, ‘keep me in the loop.’”

“Oh, I could sort of see that,” she said slowly, annotating the characters. “While you’re here, can I ask whether you think this character should be…”

They spent another half hour on her homework before they went to bed, curled around each other. Adrien didn’t press her to be more intimate, content to be close to her in whatever way she found comfortable. She drifted easily to sleep with his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder.


	18. Sweetheart

The ugly beeping of the opening bars of Crazy Frog blasted Marinette from the warm cocoon of sleep into the harsh reality of the waking world. She had intentionally picked one of the most annoying songs she could think of for her alarm, but she had regretted it every morning since.

She flopped an arm out, reaching for the phone on the nightstand, without opening her eyes. It thwacked into Adrien instead, who made a noise of protest but no move to shut off the music.

Marinette mimicked his groan, pushing him towards the edge of the bed and the phone. He made the same noise again, but louder, and slapped her hands away. She gave up and half-crawled, half-fell over the top of him until she could reach the phone.

Turning off the alarm, she flopped back down. Legs tangled in the sheets, body across Adrien’s torso, arms dangling off the bed, she was sure she would have looked remarkably uncomfortable to an outside observer. Yet, she could feel herself drifting already.

“You want to come to my lecture?” she yawned.

“Yeah, why not,” he shrugged.

“Cool,” she mumbled.

She made no move to get out of bed and he did nothing to move her off him. She rubbed her face against she warm fabric under her cheek, feeling that soft heaviness enter her limbs as she lost consciousness.

“BING BING PSH BAH BAH BAY-DAH BAH BA-DAH BOM BOM – _WHAT’S GOING ON_?” screeched her phone, right next to her ear.

She jerked awake again, kneeing Adrien in the kidney, which made him jump, which made her knock the phone onto the floor as she floundered. She reached for it, tumbling right off the bed.

“Ow!” she cried, lying in a heap while the synth tapped out its relentless beat.

Adrien leant over her. “Are you –?” he started.

“I’m fine,” she interrupted, brushing herself off and snatching the phone. “I’m fine.”

She ignored his laughter as she made her way downstairs to find breakfast. When he started laughing again while he ate a pot of yoghurt – to which he had added sultanas, for some reason – she stuck her tongue out at him. He only got louder at that.

It was sunny outside, at last, and Marinette dressed for the occasion. Plaid pants that ended short of her sneakers, denim jacket, and a button-up she left open at the top, revelling in the feeling of the sun on her face and top of her chest. Just before they left the house, she grabbed a scarf in case the crispness of the morning air was a little much.

As they walked along the street, the golden rays of the sun and the blue sky put a smile on her face. She swung her arms freely, and Adrien laughed. She smiled up at him, his golden hair and his perpetually happy face. She grabbed his hand and pulled it along with her exaggerated movement. He happily joined in, adopting her bouncy stride.

A pedestrian approaching from the other direction meant Marinette had to move out of the way, but instead of dropping her hand, he lifted their linked fingers and pulled her into a spin. He caught her around the waist, lifting her off the ground before she could overbalance. The woman passing them smiled at their antics.

Before he placed her back down, he brushed a kiss against her cheek. She blushed despite herself, pulling him on towards the university.

+++

As they left her Chinese lecture and she headed for her costuming workshop, Adrien was tapping away at his phone.

“Apparently, Gabriel Agreste is attending a luncheon today,” he said. “I might go and stake it out, see what I can pick up from him.”

“Okay,” she said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I’m sure I do a lot of things you wouldn’t do,” he scoffed. It was easy to be flippant about breaking the law if you didn’t have any concerns about being arrested.

“That’s true, God help us,” she muttered as he bent close to her face.

“At your service,” he grinned, lips brushing against hers when he spoke. She clicked her tongue in feigned annoyance, eliciting a chuckle. He placed a proper kiss against her lips, and another on her cheek. Then, with a charming smile, he turned to leave.

“Hey, Adrien,” came a lilting voice as Isabella sidled up to them.

“Oh, hello,” he chirped. “It’s nice to see you again, Isabella. How are you?”

“Great. More to the point, how are _you_ doing?” she leered.

“Very well,” he smiled sunnily. “I do have to get going, though. I hope I’ll see you soon.”

“Ta-ta,” she waved, before turning an evil grin on Marinette. “Well, you have a lot to catch us up on.”

Marinette put her face in her hands as Isabella slung an arm around her shoulders and steered her towards their classroom.

+++

After class, Marinette, Thomas and Isabella stayed on campus to work on their upcoming assessments and eat lunch over their work.

“Ugh, it was a mess. Like, really disgusting. I don’t why he thought I could have a shred of respect for him after I witnessed that,” Isabella shuddered.

“A little self-control would be nice,” Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Right?” she nodded. “Thank you! Like, who does he think is going to clean that up?”

“I meant you,” he deadpanned.

“I beg your pardon!” she squawked indignantly. “Me? In what world am I out of line in this situation?”

“You’re not, not yet. But I literally guarantee a week from now you will be singing that boy’s praises and letting him do whatever he wants in that same bed,” he smirked.

Isabella look affronted, but wasn’t sure how to defend her position without potentially further incriminating herself.

“Guys, guys,” Marinette interrupted. “It’s not about who lost control of what, where. We all have our moments – though, thankfully, most of us don’t have moments quite like that – and it comes down to personality.”

“And Jacques has a great personality,” Isabella nodded. “He offered to buy me a new doona.”

“Well, there you go,” she smiled. “He’s a gentleman.”

Thomas snorted, but didn’t comment further.

The conversation lulled as they focused more on the numerous papers spread out across the two large tables they occupied. Marinette’s phone buzzed in her pocket as she squinted at a watercolour concept drawing of her men’s costume, wondering if she should make the red rag or leave it in the inspiration-only zone.

“Hello,” she said distractedly, answering without looking at the caller.

“Hey,” someone whispered.

Frowning, she pulled the phone away from her ear to look at the screen. Adrien.

“Adrien? What’s up?” she asked. Her friends both perked up to eavesdrop at the name.

“I’m just watching Gabriel,” he said, his voice low as if he were trying to avoid notice. “I just wanted to let you know I’ll probably be out pretty late tonight. I’ll see you back at your place eventually, though.”

“Uh, sure,” she agreed, flicking a glance at her friends. They both pretended to be busy when she looked their way. She twisted in her chair as lowered her voice to gain some degree of privacy. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Truly. Just being a little sneaky.”

“Oh, geez, I don’t want to know. I’ll see you later,” she said.

“Bye,” he whispered, ending the call.

“Well?” Isabella sang. “Is he okay?”

“He’s probably getting himself into trouble, but he’s perfectly capable of getting himself back out of it, so don’t bother worrying about it,” she said, chagrin leaking into her voice. “That’s what I try to do.”

Her friends laughed.

“Oh my God,” Thomas cried. “I forgot to tell you two! You will never guess what my brother did…”

+++

Ten o’clock that night saw Marinette in her comfiest pyjamas, bright pink with little black cats all over them, clay mask drying on her face and varnish drying on her toenails while she sketched a concept for her folio. Alya’s image took up her computer screen, her bound hair thickly coated in a hair masque and a chunky green concoction smeared all over her face.

Neither of them had time for a full-on evening of girl-time, so they were making do from their own bedrooms, keeping each other company while they worked on their coursework.

“What’s another word for butt-ugly?” Alya asked.

“Hideous?” Marinette suggested.

“Something more dramatic,” she shook her head.

“Foul?”

“More emphatic.”

“Repugnant?”

“That doesn’t sound right…”

“Grotesque?”

“Perfect!” she cried, scrawling it excitedly in her notebook. “Oh, and speak of the devil.”

Marinette turned to see Adrien mounting the stairs with a cheerful expression.

“Who are you calling grotesque?” she asked, feigning outrage. “So what if he’s funny-looking, he has a heart of gold.”

“Don’t misrepresent me, I will sing his praises from the rooftops,” Alya grinned. “When we printed up our photography assignments to hand in everyone was super impressed with mine. I’m going to get stellar marks for this. We’re the dream-team, guys!”

“Happy to help,” Adrien smiled, approaching the computer.

Marinette did a double take when she got a proper look at him.

“What happened to you?” she blurted. “Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Yikes, Adrien, did you get in a fight? You’re a real dark horse,” Alya remarked.

Marinette swung back to face her friend, already reaching to end the call.

“Well, it’s getting late and there’s so much to do tomorrow. Good seeing you, Alya, bye-bye, okay, good night!” she rushed, talking over whatever protest Alya started to make and hanging up on her best friend.

“That’s definitely going to have consequences,” Adrien remarked.

“Who cares about that?” Marinette cried. “What the actual hell happened to you?”

While he couldn’t get cuts or bruises, she could tell by looking at him that any normal person would be covered in them. He had dirt on his clothes and skin, a number of tears in his clothes, and leaves and debris in his hair.

“You said you didn’t want to know,” he frowned.

“Oh my god, of course I want to know,” she rolled her eyes. “How did you end up like… this?” She waved at hand at him.

He sighed.

“I think you’re over-reacting. I crawled through a garden bed for a while – it’s really the only way to stay hidden at a top-security garden party, if you can believe,” he said with a shrug and a smile. His whole demeanour said ‘what are you gonna do?’ as though it weren’t a patently ridiculous situation to have been in from the get-go.

She crossed her arms.

“Well, what dazzling insights did you gain while risking life and limb?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

This question brought a look of consternation onto his face where no regard for himself had.

“Nothing good,” he frowned. “He seems to be teetering on the edge. He’s so lonely, so desperate, it’s clear he’s in danger of losing himself. I’m surprised the pair of them have held it together as much as they have.”

“That makes them special, right?” she asked hopefully.

“In some respect,” he nodded distractedly. “But there will definitely be consequences if I can’t do something to resolve this whole situation.”

She opened her mouth to ask, but he shook his head.

“No, I have no idea to fix their marriage, cure their depression, and convince them to get over their dead-but-not-dead son,” he sighed.

“We’ll think of something,” she said resolutely. “Adrien. You know I’m here for you. Apart from the dubious legwork, I’m right beside you with this.”

He regarded her quietly for a moment, and she stared him down with her best determined-face. That face could move mountains. That face had won the afternoon classes off before the formal when she was class captain in school. That face had convinced the most hard-nosed co-ordinator in the faculty accept a late submission.

That face made an angel believe he could live up to his destiny again.

The doubt that was weighing on his shoulders slid off as he looked into her eyes, maybe her soul. She couldn’t tell the difference, if there was one. But whatever it was that he was looking at, he saw what he needed to. And just like that, that smile of glowing goodness that had faded under the shadow of self-doubt was back.

“Thank you, Marinette,” he said, eyes swimming with a warmth and gratitude that made impossible not to beam back at him. Even with the dirt smeared across his right cheek.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Now, go and clean up, you’re kind of a mess.”

She gave him a playful shove, and he laughed his musical laugh. He plucked a leaf from where it was wedged in the epaulette of his shirt and threw it at her as he headed for the stairs.

When he came back from the shower smelling of strawberry body wash and they flopped into bed, he lay with his head on her stomach. She fiddled with the ends of his damp hair with one hand while he held the other to his chest, pushing her fingers this way and that.

“What’s your favourite colour?” she asked randomly.

He hummed in thought, tapping his fingers against her wrist.

“Maybe pink,” he said slowly.

“Pink?”

“What’s wrong with pink?” he challenged.

“Nothing, it’s my favourite colour too. You just don’t seem like a pink person,” she said.

“It’s not my style to wear it, I’ll admit, but the ideology of pink is the most appealing,” he explained. “It’s love, sweetness, everything pretty and innocent and kind. Black can be evil, blue can be sad, green can be sharp and jealous. Anything covered in pink can do no harm.”

Marinette grinned at the ceiling for a moment before she could reply. The pink ceiling of her very pink bedroom. Where she lay in her pink pyjamas on her pink sheets. She didn’t think it was flattering herself to think that she may have influenced his opinion.

She felt the light blush on her cheeks but kept her cool.

“Favourite animal?” she asked in as neutral a tone as she could manage.

“I don’t really have one,” he shrugged. “How about you?”

“Hamster,” she answered immediately.

“Least favourite?” he asked, a sleepy huskiness creeping into his voice.

“Oh, goats. I hate them,” she said seriously, shuddering underneath him.

“That sounds like it has a story behind it,” he laughed softly. “I’d like to hear it.”

“Oh, it does,” she promised darkly. “When I was a kid, I always wore my hair in two pigtails. Which was fine, until we went to this farm with school. They gave us all a little bag with feed in it…”

As she told her story, she could feel Adrien drifting off, but she kept quietly talking to him and touching his hair ever so gently until he was well and truly asleep.


	19. Embarrassment

The colours that streak across the sky, changing too slowly for the human eye to perceive and yet vastly different minute to minute, as the sun rises have a grace unrivalled by anything on the ground below. The soft call of birds waking up, the low rumble of morning traffic…

There was something about early mornings that sharpened the senses, maybe because everything around was muted. Cool breezes, light rains, tentative rays of golden light. Mornings were soft.

For Marinette, though, the precious first hours of the day were an unknown beauty. Her mornings began not with the twitter of a bird greeting the sun, but a familiar salutation to the day.

“BING BING PSH BAH BAH BAY-DAH BAH BA-DAH BOM BOM – _WHAT’S GOING ON_?” her phone speakers blared.

She sat bolt upright with a cry, knocking Adrien aside from his position partly on top of her, floundering about for her phone. She heard a soft laugh from behind her as she struggled to silence the grating gibberish that continued to emit from the speakers.

As soon as the music shut off, she rolled back towards him, snaking an arm around his waist and tucking her face into his neck.

“Shouldn’t you be getting out of bed?” he mumbled even as his own arms came up to embrace her.

“Mm, yeah,” she sighed, nuzzling closer. She was jolted back to consciousness when an unexpected sound preceded a burst of light from above.

She jerked in surprise, staring up at the trapdoor to her terrace. To her utter bewilderment, a man she had never seen before stared back down at her.

The man looked similarly bemused, peering down at the two of them with his mouth slightly agape. The moment stretched out for a few long seconds before a sound of irritation issued from the hole and the man was pulled out of view.

A figure dropped neatly through the hole, landing beside the bed with arms crossed and lip curled. And, of course, a pair of great white wings stretched out behind her. They had a much narrower shape than Adrien’s, coming to delicate points where the pristine white feathers flicked up perfectly. Marinette knew immediately that Chloé was exceptionally fond of them, without her having to say a single thing.

“Chloé,” Adrien said, sitting up. “What are you doing here?”

She rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Bringing important information, obviously,” she said snidely. “Isaac, are you coming down here or what?”

The man lowered himself through the trapdoor, looking uncomfortably around the room. He also had his wings extended, t-shirt stuffed into his back pocket to afford them where a low-backed top wasn’t an option. His pale skin and red hair seemed perfectly matched to the colour of his feathers, which were a light brown flecked with an auburn. Marinette would have guessed that he was nearing forty, though very lean and fit, making his apparent self-consciousness more surprising.

Adrien seemed particularly shocked that Isaac was there, staring dumbly at him. Chloé eyed the pair of them with distaste, Marinette glared at Chloé, and Isaac looked at the floor.

“BING BING PSH BAH BAH BAY-DAH BAH BA-DAH BOM BOM – _WHAT’S GOING ON_?”

Wordlessly, Marinette reached over and turned off the music. Silence reigned.

“So, what’s so important that not one, but two angels need to barge into my bedroom at seven AM?” she said at last, since it seemed that no one else knew what to say.

“Well, not that it’s technically any of _your_ business,” Chloé said, tossing her loose blonde hair indignantly, “but I have come into some information that will factor into Adrien’s task.”

“Okay. Then who’s that guy?” she asked, pointing at Isaac.

“That’s Isaac,” Adrien said.

“Allow me to rephrase the question,” she said. “Who is Isaac?”

“Isaac is a guardian angel,” Chloé cut in, no longer content to be quiet if anyone else was inclined to speak. “One who has been around long enough to have been there at the time.”

“What time?” Marinette ground out.

“The time we made a mistake,” Isaac blurted, finally.

“I brought him so that he could tell you the details of what happened,” Chloé said. “But the long and the short of it is – one of _his_ screwed up.”

“What do you mean?” Adrien asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“There was a guardian sent to protect a string of people over several weeks,” Isaac said looking almost embarrassed. “She did well enough at first, but she grew… too interested in the daily life of mortals. Discontent, maybe, with her lot. She lost focus.”

“What happened?” Marinette whispered, eyes flicking between Adrien’s stony face and Isaac.

“She got sloppy. She was meant to be following a vital target, keeping someone safe over several days. This person was at the centre of several lives,” he continued. “And she didn’t. She got distracted, indulging her curiosity for this place, and wasn’t there when it mattered. Her target was killed, and lives fell apart. Widespread consequences that are still being felt by countless people.”

“Isaac,” Chloé prodded when he stopped. Even her voice had a sober note to it. “Tell them who was allowed to die when they should have been protected.”

“A baby boy,” he said slowly, “named Adrien Agreste. Aged twenty-seven hours and thirteen minutes.”

The admission hung in the air. It was true, then: Adrien was never meant to have been an angel. He was supposed to grow up with his loving parents, in a proper family. This whole mess where they were so devastated by his loss that they couldn’t even hold onto each other should never have happened. She wondered how many other lives he would have shaped for the better that were now only part of what they should be.

After a while Chloé spoke.

“I suppose that’s a testament to what happens when angels mingle with mortals more than necessary. We live separately for a reason,” she sniffed, giving Adrien a meaningful look. Thankfully, he was staring at the sheets in his lap and didn’t notice.

“I don’t think this is really the best time for that,” Marinette said pointedly.

“And _I_ don’t think that you really have a say in this,” she retorted. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“It’s my room, in my house!” Marinette argued incredulously.

“And it’s very tasteful,” she sniped.

“We should go,” Isaac interrupted before Marinette could say anything else. “Adrien, I’m sorry for what happened to you. Good luck with your task.”

“Fine,” Chloé said. “I’ll see you both soon enough. And by the way, Marinette, the red rag with the beaded costume? The assessors will find it heavy-handed and tacky. So unless that’s what you’re going for…” She trailed off with a shrug.

They each leapt through the opening in the ceiling with a beat of their wings, with Isaac reaching back to close and latch the trapdoor shut. And then they were gone.

Marinette and Adrien sat in shell-shocked silence for several minutes. Then suddenly, she realised something.

“I have a shift this morning!” she cried, jumping off the mattress and sprinting across her bedroom. “We can talk this through when I’m done at work. I’m going to be late!”

+++

When she got home at one o’clock, Marinette immediately hiked the stairs to her room in search of Adrien. Finding it empty, she jogged downstairs to the bakery.

Poking her head into the kitchen, she saw no sign of him. Not wanting errant flour on her all-black outfit, she turned to her mother rather than venture in.

“Maman, have you seen Adrien?” she asked.

“Oh, he was here until about an hour ago, when he said he had to go take care of something,” she replied as she fished a customer’s change out of the cash drawer. “If you’re not too busy, do you think you could help your father put out some things from the back? The shelves are a little bare.”

“Um… yeah, sure,” Marinette said. “I’ll just go change and then I’ll come help.”

As she hopped up the stairs again, she pulled out her phone. No text from Adrien. He would be back, once he was finished pairing up two unsuspecting lovers, she supposed. When he was ready.

It made her uneasy, though, to be in the dark as to his whereabouts. He seemed naïve, sometimes, despite his physical power, and she worried he might do something else crazy. Break into private property or sneak into something he shouldn’t and get caught. And what would he do then? Maybe snap the bars of his cell and fly away? Was he that strong? She had no idea. Even if he was, he may be too weighed down by the invisible walls that stopped him from committing a sin.

What she was really afraid of, though, was that he would go and fix the Agrestes’ problem without her, without telling her, and just be gone. Without saying goodbye. Without telling her how it went and that he was okay. That as easily as he had walked into her life, he would walk right back out.

She changed into blue jeans and a white t-shirt, sliding her phone back into her pocket.

Downstairs, she threw on her apron and got to work.

After about an hour, when she was crouched behind the display cabinet to refill the macarons, Adrien walked in the door, heavy-looking duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Adrien, you’re back!” her mother called in greeting.

“ _Bonjour_ , Sabine,” he smiled.

“Do you want to help Thomas in the back for a bit, or are you otherwise occupied?” she asked as another customer approached the counter.

Adrien made a gesture indicating he would go around the back, heading wordlessly for the kitchen. He nearly tripped over Marinette as he rounded the counter. She gave a little squeak when his bag swung to hit her in the head as he stopped suddenly, but he lifted it over her in time.

“Sorry, Mari,” he laughed apologetically, moving around her and snagging an apron on the way to the back.

“It’s fine,” she squeaked at the belt buckle right in front of her face. Giving herself a shake, she got to her feet and back to work.

She also made a special effort not to look at Sabine, who was definitely trying to catch her eye. There were times when one needed one’s mother’s input, and there were times when it was the _last_ thing one needed.

Either way, Marinette did not want to hear it.

+++

Once the bakery was closed, her parents stayed downstairs as Marinette and Adrien headed up to the apartment. Her father had some intricate cake to decorate, and her mother had to do something with the accounts while she kept him company.

Marinette set about making fried rice for dinner.

“You can help by cutting up the capsicum,” she said, waving a hand at the cutting board while she fried the chicken. “Small pieces.”

“Right,” he said, picking a knife at random and inexpertly slicing away. Seeds flew everywhere, but she made no comment.

“So. Any further thought on the Agreste matter?” she asked as casually as she could.

He didn’t look up from where he was attacking the pile of chopped capsicum with the blade in an effort to make the pieces smaller.

“Not really,” he sighed. “I think I need to create some event that will bring them closer together again, but I have no idea what that would actually be.”

“What if you just told them you’re Adrien?” she suggested. “That you’re not really dead? Not a hundred per cent, anyway.”

“Who’s to say they’d believe me? They witnessed my death, and all I have to prove my claim is family resemblance,” he said, shaking his head. “Besides, I’m not supposed to reveal myself.”

“You told me,” she pointed out.

“That’s different.”

“How so?” she challenged.

“It just is,” he insisted, rather unconvincingly. Nevertheless, if he thought it wouldn’t work, she would accept that he knew more about the rules and the whole situation.

“Fine. What if we lured them into therapy? Tricked them into marriage counselling?” she shrugged.

He laughed uproariously at that.

“What if we got them a dog?” she threw out. “Families bond over pets.”

“I think we’re a bit past that,” he chuckled.

“What if they had another baby?”

He laughed even harder at that suggestion.

“Even if that would work, how are we going to make that happen? Conception is kind of between the two of them,” he pointed out.

“You could break into their house again,” she shrugged. “Light a few candles, sprinkle a few rose petals. Poke holes in their condoms. Come on, we both know that if there is anyone who knows how to make sex happen, it’s you.”

Praise to the gods of fate, who are merciful and wise. And sometimes very mean. Never had they been crueller than when they decided that as she spoke her final sentence, her parents would walk into the room.

Perhaps it was a mercy, though, that Adrien was wearing both a shirt and pants, for once.

Her parents froze in the doorway, her father with a tired expression and her mother looking pained.

Marinette froze with the wooden spoon in hand, grimacing at her parents. The only sound was that of sizzling in the pan and Adrien crunching on a stick of capsicum. Bless him, he was unaffected in the face of humiliation. He continued to munch thoughtfully.

“That’s true,” he nodded pensively after several seconds of silence that were excruciating for everyone else.

That broke the tension, sending Tom into raucous laughter as he headed for the master bedroom. Sabine smiled wryly as she followed after him.

“I hate you,” Marinette muttered once they were gone.

“Why?” he asked, apparently serious, with his big green eyes blinking innocently at her like she would forgive him just like that.

She huffed and rolled her eyes, dumping ingredients into the frying pan with more violence than necessary. She took a calming breath.

“Okay, seriously now,” she said. “What can we do that will make your parents want to come together?”

“It will have to hit close to home for them to willingly participate,” he mused. “But not just dredge up the past… it has to be healing.”

“Well… at the heart of it, they’re sad about something unfortunate happening to a child,” she said. “What about putting on some kind of event to do with kids? Ones who are sick or something.”

He perked up.

“You’re a genius! But seriously sick children often die,” he frowned. “That is not the kind of reminder we want.”

“What about orphans or foster kids? Or maybe just from lower-income families?” she suggested.

“That’s perfect!” he exclaimed, that grin she loved stretching across his face. He let out a euphoric laugh, and she laughed too. They hadn’t actually achieved anything yet, but his enthusiasm was infectious.

He placed a hand on the side of her face and touched his forehead to hers.

“You are such a blessing, Marinette,” he said softly. She held his gaze, wondering at the emotion in it.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispered back.

A gentle smile played on his lips as he brushed them against hers. His kiss was chaste, appropriate for the setting, but not appropriate for her current mindset.

She dropped the spoon and threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him back down to her height. She kissed him with much more vigour than he employed, but the way his hands came up to clutch at her hips was a sign of enthusiasm.

With a final swipe of her tongue, she let him go, turning back to the stove. He stared at her, panting slightly, as she shook soy sauce into the mix.

After a few moments, he seemed to decide he had something better to do than stand there being ignored. In truth, she was painfully aware of him, but if there was a bad time to jump his bones, it was while preparing family dinner in a communal living area.

She did watch him climb the steps to her room from the corner of her eye, admiring his tall frame and perfectly toned derrière – pardon the French – as he went. She burnt the side of her thumb while distracted, making her jump, but it was worth it.

+++

Marinette lay atop the bed covers, scrolling through Facebook, when Adrien entered the room, dropping the trapdoor shut and chucking his clothes onto The Pile. He mounted the stairs to her mezzanine and sat beside her on the bed.

“Hey, I was thinking,” she said, squinting at the wall as she thought. “Gabriel and Emilie Agreste are celebrities, really important people. To get them to engage with poor children and sort out their issues, it’s probably going to have to be a publicised event.”

He hummed in agreement.

“So what if we had like a picnic lunch kind of thing, invited them, maybe the mayor, some other famous people, also some normal people, and some of the kids,” she said. “We could get them to play games and stuff. Maybe have a dude making balloon animals. Try to help kids whose lives are kind of bleak have some good, old-fashioned fun.”

“That’s a great idea,” he said. “But this sounds like a lot of organisation.”

“Next week is mid-semester break,” she shrugged. “I bet some of my friends will help out. The university might give some support, too. The bakery can probably supply some of the food…”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said, making a calming motion with his hand. “Don’t get stressed out planning now.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she nodded, leaning over to place her phone on her bedside table. “Although, I wonder if…”

He placed a finger to her lips, silencing her thought before she could get it out.

“Tomorrow,” he laughed quietly. Withdrawing his finger, he gave her a tender kiss and then leant back to smile warmly at her. “It can wait.”

She got up on her knees, linking her hands behind his head. If he thought she was going to be contented with yet another restrained kiss, he was dead wrong. She pulled him close, the silky texture of his lips drawing her in immediately.

He deepened the kiss, but she pulled away to suck a trail down his neck, her hands sliding around to rest on his chest. He lifted one up kiss her wrist, then trace his lips towards her elbow. He halted his progress before he got halfway up her forearm, though.

“What happened here?” he murmured, even as his free arm hauled her body closer to his.

She straightened to follow his gaze.

“Oh, burnt my finger cooking,” she shrugged. “I guess I got distracted.”

“I hope I’m not to blame,” he smiled, eyes glinting at her impishly.

She laughed quietly.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re forgiven.”

“How magnanimous you are,” he grinned. He raised her hand, pressing her thumb against his lips.

Golden light glowed out from where their skin touched, and she felt her skin getting warm, almost like the throbbing sensation after she had touched the heated metal, but not unpleasant.

The feeling faded, and when she pulled her hand back, the sore red mark had disappeared.

“Thank you,” she grinned, moving to kiss him again.

“Anything to stay on your good side,” he said against her lips before sealing them with another languid kiss.


	20. Wake-Up Call

When her alarm went off on Thursday morning, Adrien reached over and turned it off before jumping out of bed. She mumbled and rolled away from him in protest of his enthusiasm.

“Come on, Marinette,” he laughed. “Rise and shine! It’s a beautiful day and there’s plenty to do.”

His chipper attitude was too much when she wasn’t committed to being awake yet.

“No,” she grumbled, pulling her covers up to her nose.

“Marinette,” he sang, his voice rich and smooth somehow despite his having just woken up. She sensed him leaning over her, but she ignored him in favour of chasing sleep.

He said her name again, stretching it out as he called to her. His voice was close, but she didn’t open her eyes. He leant on the mattress, shifting the covers, but she barely noticed.

Until his searching fingers made contact under the blankets.

Her eyes flew open and she thrashed away from him with a gasp. His hands chased her, though, dancing along her ribcage as she squealed in protest until she rolled off the far side of the bed.

He paused his raucous laughter to peer over the edge, checking she was alright. She glared up at him, and he chuckled.

“I’ve never seen anyone actually do that in real life,” he grinned.

She picked herself up off the floor, trying to preserve what dignity she had.

“How do you even know how to tickle someone?” she griped. “What happened to not knowing what to do with a human body, huh?”

“I saw it in a movie,” he smiled innocently, the reproach in her voice rolling off him like water off a duck’s back.

“When have you had time to watch movies?” she grumbled, heading downstairs. “Weren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I was following someone,” he replied.

“Whatever,” she sighed, offering him a croissant before digging through the fridge for yoghurt that wasn’t apricot flavoured.

“Are you actually upset?” he asked, picking at the croissant as he sat at the table. She could hear genuine dismay in his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be upsetting for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to forgive you,” she sighed, keeping her expression smooth. As she walked behind his chair, she darted in close to tickle his sides.

He shrieked and nearly fell out of his seat. She guffawed, nearly in tears at his reaction. Once he recovered, he joined in her laughter.

“Fair enough,” he said as she flopped into the seat beside his.

“So,” she started as she licked the lid of her tub of yoghurt. “You want to come to class with me today?”

“No,” he said slowly, clearly thinking something through. “I need to get started planning.”

“Oh, okay,” she frowned. “Are you sure you can do that alone?”

“I’m just going to have a bit of an initial look at what we need to do,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll need more than a little of your help soon enough.”

He got up from the table, putting his plate in the sink and ruffling her hair on the way past.

“I’d be lost without you, Marinette,” he laughed. “I’ll certainly never forget that.”

His tone was light, but when she pushed her hair out of her eyes, she caught his weird expression before he turned to spring up the stairs to her room.

+++

“Hey,” Thomas greeted as she took the seat beside him. There was still a minute or two before the lecture started, and she busied herself with organising her brightly-coloured pens for the notes she was going to take.

Strong academic performance was all about good preparation.

“Hey,” she smiled. “Excited for mid-semester break?”

“I guess,” he said, making a face. “It’s not like I’m going to do anything fun, though. One week isn’t long enough to go anywhere and I have assignments.”

“True,” she shrugged. “Not having to get up early for classes, though.”

“Amen,” he laughed. “I’m due for a night out.”

Of course he would look at it that way. Thomas was a bit of a party animal, and known for turning up to university still in his party clothes and smelling of someone’s drinks on more than one occasion. Luckily, their contact hours this semester were very few, and he hadn’t come directly from someone else’s couch all year.

She just rolled her eyes, and he laughed good-naturedly.

“Oh, _and_ ,” he gasped, suddenly remembering. “What a score! I think I got a gig.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my mum’s cousin’s friend and her husband are doing up this big apartment, apparently, and they want to put a mural on the wall,” he grinned. “I’ll give mates rates, probably, but I’m still pumped for that sweet, sweet, commission cash.”

“That’s so exciting,” she clapped, bouncing in her seat. Before she could speak further, the lecturer started up.

“Okay, if you’ve done the readings you’ll have a clue as to today’s topic,” he said, starting his slideshow. “The World Wars and their impact on fashion, style, and class interaction with aesthetics. We’ll start with a quick recap of how things were shaping up at the start of the twentieth century in terms of influencing clothing…”

When Marinette and Thomas, now joined by Isabella, left their workshop several hours later, Adrien was waiting for them. He sidled up next to Isabella, who jumped when she turned to see him walking alongside her.

“Oh,” she gasped. “Hi, Adrien. Long time no see.”

“Hello, Isabelle,” he smiled, the sun lighting up his silky blonde hair and twinkling in his eyes so that he looked so angelic, he didn’t even need the wings. “Hi, Thomas.”

“Hey, man,” Thomas greeted. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I’ve just been running some errands, drumming up a bit of interest in a little something I’m putting together,” he grinned, looking excited as he leaned in conspiratorially.

“What is it?” Isabella asked.

“Oh, just a little event, for a charitable cause,” he smiled. “But I think a lot of good will come of it. I’m not quite ready to announce it, yet.”

“Sounds cool,” she nodded, impressed.

“Well, let us know if we can pitch in,” Thomas smiled. “Hopefully we’ll be able to squeeze you in.”

“Thank you,” Adrien said, that remarkably wholesome expression taking hold on his face.

They bid farewell to her friends and headed for home.

“So, what’s the latest?” Marinette asked.

“I’ve got a venue on board for Saturday week,” he said. “Park with an indoor pavilion. I’ve also approached a few community groups that work with children whose parents are out of the picture, unfit for whatever reason or deceased, and talked about bringing some of their children and their staff. People are interested.”

“That’s great news!” she gasped, clapping her hands. A little over a week out was very short notice to put something like this together, and she was almost surprised people would be willing to get involved at this late stage.

“I’ll keep drumming up attendees, but I want it to also be an opportunity for regular families to attend, maybe raise some money, and have fun with the activities I’m planning,” he continued. “Would you be able to set up some promotion online?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “I’ll design you some posters and everything.”

He gave her a winning smile, and she returned it. She was sure the coming week was going to involve a lot of work, but if it would help a host of children from disrupted homes and stop the Agrestes from turning into evil millionaire villains, it was worth it.

It would probably still be a worthwhile endeavour, in her mind, if the sole payoff was Adrien smiling his radiant smile down at her from his position against a pole in a crowded train carriage.


	21. Event Planner

By Wednesday morning of mid-semester break, Marinette had come to terms with the early rises and didn’t complain when Adrien hopped out of bed at half-past six, itching to get started on the continued planning for Friday.

Monday had seen them visit the town hall, plucking on the heart-strings of the mayor to pledge his support for their event to raise awareness and funds for children living in the system. Marinette had vaguely recalled that he had lost a child young, and done a little research before they went. According to his Wikipedia article, he had had one child in his first marriage who had died in hospital, born two months premature. There was no mention of their name, so Adrien couldn’t say whether that child had become an angel like him. The mayor had two younger children with his second wife, and seemed to be coping far better than Adrien’s parents with the loss. She supposed that child’s death wasn’t against the cosmic rules, which didn’t make much sense to her.

When she had asked Adrien how any child dying could be part of the universe’s plan, he had given her an unreadable look.

“Well, you could look at it this way: to watch over Earth, there have to be enough angels, which means there have to be enough deaths,” he had said, face pinching like he didn’t buy it. “But that’s kind of a chicken-and-the-egg situation. I can’t say whether babies are born to die just so they can save other people. Maybe the world is too big to take care of everyone. Maybe some things are beyond even our control.”

She had crossed her arms, about to argue but he placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Think of it this way: my main occupation when I come to Earth is to ensure people fall in love. But not every person who falls in love did so because I made them,” he said. “Maybe everything does happen for a reason, but not everything happens on purpose. We can only do so much, so we generally only step in where we see a key moment, a turning point that may seem random but has a big knock-on effect.”

She had had to accept that, but she didn’t like it. But what was she going to do? Demand a whole fleet of angels work in hospitals and perform magical healing miracles on every baby with so much as a cold? She didn’t know how many angels there were, but she imagined there weren’t enough to manage that.

Bad luck continued to exist in the face of Adrien and his friends, then.

It was good luck, she supposed, rather than some incontrovertible destiny that saw the Mayor agree to support their plan, and pledged a grant of €1000 to help with expenses.

By Tuesday, they had printed off posters and put them around community centres and on some lampposts, booked entertainment and live music, secured catering (several businesses providing services at cost-price to support the cause) and more. She couldn’t think what was left to do, but Adrien always had more tasks to take care of, often involving her.

They sat at the kitchen table, each fiddling with their phones as they ate breakfast. She posted a graphic on the Instagram for the event as she sipped her piping-hot chocolate. Adrien was texting someone while eating pieces of bread with brie and her favourite jam smeared on top. She wondered if it was disgusting, and if he could even tell.

He set his phone down.

“Your friend Thomas is an artist, right?” he said.

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded. “He’s super good.”

“Do you think he could do something art-related for the fete?” he mused.

“Funny you should ask,” she laughed. “He used to do face-painting. He kind of hated it, but he did it for cash at birthday parties and stuff before he started getting commissions and stuff for his ‘real art.’ He’d come out of retirement for charity, though, if we asked.”

“If he wouldn’t mind,” Adrien frowned, clearly concerned about putting Thomas in a position where he had to do something he hated.

“He’ll be fine,” she assured him, flapping a hand. “Just because it’s not his passion, doesn’t mean it’s torture. But I’ll make sure he knows he can say no.”

Adrien seemed placated by that, returning his attention to his makeshift breakfast.

Marinette rolled her eyes. With someone with such a flair for dramatics, he didn’t deal that well with hyperbole.

+++

By midday, Thomas was lined up to paint faces, the final approval of some council permit Adrien had been pressing had come through, and the pair of them were on their way to the café around the corner to meet Alya and Nino for lunch.

When they came in, Alya was whispering something to Nino with a sly look on her face, gaze fixed on Marinette. Nino looked surprised and amused, maybe smug.

She couldn’t know what her best friend was saying about her, but she guessed it had to do with Adrien.

They both greeted him warmly, and he smiled his radiant smile back at them.

Nino immediately claimed Adrien’s attention, talking about a club he was playing in a month’s time and the possibility of producing a local band’s next song to be recorded. Adrien knew neither the venue nor the band, nothing about the industry or the processes behind it, but he listening keenly and asked plenty of questions.

Marinette talked university with Alya until their food came, and they were all drawn into a discussion of the garden fete for disadvantaged kids Adrien was putting together. With her help, he stressed, but in truth she mostly only consulted. It was he who had been putting most of his waking hours into getting everything ready in time.

“Several celebrities as already lined up to attend,” he smiled, almost shyly. “The Agrestes haven’t said whether they’ll come or not, but Jagged Stone has agreed to perform two songs, so there will definitely be some star power.”

“Dude, that is off the chain,” Nino gasped, reaching out for a fist-bump, which Adrien gently returned.

“By the way, Alya, I meant to invite you to come along in a professional capacity,” Adrien said. “If you wanted to, there’s probably some angle to it that you could write up for one of your journalism units.”

“Or the student news broadcast,” she added. “We have a radio station and an online paper. Decent readership, at least among youth demographics.”

“Whatever you want,” he shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s a good idea,” she agreed, wheels turning in her head.

“I can try to get you a chance to talk to Jagged or one of the other big names,” Adrien offered. “Maybe you can get a few quotes.”

“That would be fantastic,” she squealed, bouncing in her seat in excitement.

Adrien smiled, looking pleased with himself for making someone happy. Marinette felt a squeeze in her chest just looking at his sweet face.

“Two, four, six, eight,” Nino grinned, reaching for his focaccia.

“Hey, no, let me get a picture first!” Alya protested.

Marinette and Nino sighed melodramatically.

“You never even post most of your food pics on Instagram,” she pointed out as Alya half-stood for a vertical shot.

“I post some, but everyone hates food spam,” Alya replied.

“Yes, they do,” Nino groaned with a pointed roll of the eyes.

“I put some on Snapchat,” she defended, though it was a losing battle trying to justify any delay to Nino’s meal schedule.

“Chin up, buttercup,” she laughed. “Group shot! Get in, guys.”

They all leant into her frame, posing and smiling while she snapped a few pictures from slightly different angles.

“Okay, I’m done,” she laughed at last, and they all dug in.

Adrien immediately snatched a chip from Nino’s plate, sparking a new disagreement the moment the photography complaints were put to rest.

+++

Marinette spent two hours on an essay that night, alone in her room and focused relatively solidly. She hit a wall, though, and decided to call it quits for the day.

As she bounced down the stairs, the sudden banging from the main room caught her off-guard. She nearly fell down the remaining stairs, gripping the railing to stay upright as she jumped in surprise.

Following the bang, there was a round of cries of dismay and amusement.

Her parents and Adrien sat on the floor around the coffee table, each with a stack of cards in their hands.

“Marinette,” he father smiled. “Your maman insisted we let you study, but if you’re free now why don’t you join the game?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, folding herself onto the carpet. “What are we playing?”

“Snap,” Sabine answered. Judging by the red marks adorning the foreheads of both her parents, they were playing with all the additional stipulations, including redneck rules – meaning in order for a claim of the pile to be valid, a player has to touch their palm to their forehead before the slapping the cards on the table.

People invariably hit themselves in the face harder than they meant to in the heat of the game.

“Let’s just re-deal,” Tom said, shuffling the cards and dealing them out.

She glanced at Adrien while he was distracted by something her mother was quietly saying to him, wondering if it was his godly invulnerability that protected him from the red spot on his face, or if he was bad at the game. On one hand, he had probably never played Snap before tonight, but on the other, she was willing to bet he had the fastest reflexes.

She soon got her answer.

He was bad at looking for the more complex patterns, but Adrien deftly slid his hand under anyone else’s more than half the time. His natural grace somehow afforded him the rare talent of gently touching his face before streaking towards the table. Marinette was also slightly frightened of beating him to the cards, even though she normally won this game, having seen his strength.

He didn’t break anyone’s hands in the ten minutes it took him to win, though.

When the family broke up the party and headed for bed, she was still musing on his strength.

“What’s the heaviest thing you’ve ever lifted?” she asked as she leant in the doorway while he brushed his teeth.

“The weight of man’s sins,” he deadpanned around a mouthful of toothpaste.

She rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“Seriously,” she pressed.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe a dumpster? I didn’t pick it up, though, only boosted one side.”

She raised her eyebrows, impressed.

“How about you?” he asked with a playful smile.

“Deadweight of… hmm, how much would you say you way?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him as though sizing him up.

He snorted.

“That’s not very nice,” he scolded as he passed her through the doorway.

She got up on her toes, throwing an arm around him to steady herself, to kiss his cheek.

“Am I forgiven?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

“Of course,” he relented with an overly-solemn nod. He wrapped an arm around her waist and easily hoisted her onto his shoulder.

She let out a startled laugh, demanding he put her down in a whisper as he carried her back to her bedroom and flailing her legs, but it didn’t prove an obstacle to him.

He deposited her on her mattress, where she pouted, red in the face.

“Rude,” she scowled.

“All permissible in the name of fun,” he replied simply as he hopped into bed and turned off the lamp beside him.

She flopped back, lying down and wiggling into her optimum sleeping position, pressed against his side and one leg hitched over his. She put an arm across his chest to pull herself closer, tucking her face into his neck.

She let out a satisfied sigh, comfortable wrapped around her human pillow. Adrien’s breath was even, but the fingers stroking the skin of her forearm let her know he was awake.

“You should lift a car or something,” she whispered after a while.

“Why?” he whispered back, fingers trailing absently along the part of her leg that rested atop his stomach.

“People would think you were a superhero,” she said. “I could make you a disguise. I’m doing a costume unit at the moment, you know, but it’s more about the stage…”

“And why would I want to be a superhero?”

“Firstly, that’s kind of a stupid question, because everyone should and does want to be a superhero,” she pointed out. “And secondly, you could make public service announcements and people would have to listen. Just tell people to approach their destined lovers or whatever, instead of making them think it was their idea like Inception. It’s all so contrived.”

“Contrived,” he repeated with a huff. “I really don’t think that would work.”

His arms wrapped around her to shift her, putting her flatter against him.

“Sure it would,” she yawned. “We could dress you up like a little baby cupid, how we humans think of them. Red sparkly bow and arrow. Oversized nappy. As if the angel of love pees his pants on the regular…”

“Thank you for the offer, but I really prefer the way we do things now,” he laughed.

She shrugged, mumbling, “It’s your loss.”

His quiet laughter faded, and the random soft touches of his fingertips lulled her to sleep easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I googled it and I’m not sure if everyone outside Australia will know what I mean about Snap? Basically it’s a card game where everyone discards cards in turn and then slaps the pile when there is a pair (extra rules can include when there are three sequential cards, or a pair separated by one card). Makes your hand hurt after a while lol.


	22. Heartbreaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to give a shout-out to my own idiocy? I really sat there, trying to write dialogue for Nino, like 'hmm what should he say along the lines of let's eat' and I chose "two four six eight (dig in don't wait)," the dadliest of all options, when they're literally French and 'bon appetit' would have made a million times more sense? okay lol
> 
> A more sincere shout-out to the people who have been reading and commenting since I started uploading this fic. I've written like 20k words since I declared it "almost finished" because I realised it deserved a more satisfying ending than the original conclusion I had planned. The support you guys have given me has kept me going, so the biggest cheers ever to you guys <3

Marinette scanned the crowd, up on her toes to try to glimpse her mother’s familiar head of glossy black hair.

It was a hopeless cause. The chaos of something like two thousand people meandering about the garden, still more currently inside the pavilion Adrien had secured for the day, made it hard to see anyone amongst the throngs.

There were shrieks and cries of young children on the rides, or patting the farm animals in the little enclosures. Parents corralled their children, clowns twisted balloons, speakers played pop music to compete with the classic tune floating out from the merry-go-round.

The children in state care, particularly, were running about with the kind of boundless excitement that gave adults headaches. They had been given ride passes, as opposed to the kids who had been brought by their parents who had to pay for rides and snacks, and were determined to get the best possible mileage out of them.

A radio station had set up to broadcast out of the gazebo, protected in case of rain that was certainly not forthcoming. How their equipment was able to clearly capture the hosts’ voices over the music and the laughter random sounds coming from the rides, she had no idea.

“Marinette!” Alya said, appearing at her side.

“Oh, hey,” she said, blinking in surprise. “Have you seen Maman? She texted me saying she was bringing some stuff from the bakery, but I can’t find her.”

“I saw your dad heading for the building, carrying a delivery, so it’s probably fine,” she rushed, flapping a hand as if to sweep aside the topic. “But forget about that. You’ll never guess who just arrived!”

“Who?” Marinette asked.

Alya called up a photo on the screen of the expensive camera that hung around her neck, showing off one of her shots.

Gabriel Agreste, pulling his customary neutral-and-dignified face, with his wife smiling politely by his side, standing on the little red carpet they had set up at the front of the VIP area. Most of the celebrities who were making an appearance were only now arriving as darkness began to fall.

“Oh!”

“Yeah, girl, I know. Your idol is attending a party you and your boy-toy threw! How psyched are you?” Alya squealed.

“Yeah, totally psyched. I should let Adrien know,” she replied unevenly.

“What time is the mayor making his address?” Alya asked.

Marinette checked her watch. “About twenty minutes. Performances are after that, and Adrien said you and one of your journalist colleagues can do a round of the VIP area after that, but he wants you to leave them alone if and when they mingle in the main area,” she said, receiving a dutiful nod from her friend before she set back off to photograph arrivals.

Marinette looked around again, finally spotting the back of Adrien’s head by the stage, currently occupied by four people in brightly-coloured outfits singing about the solar system. She made her way over, skirting the crowd of enthused children and ring of patient parents that surrounded them.

“Adrien,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, once he was finished talking to the sound technician.

“What’s up?” he smiled. Running around, fielding questions and managing supplies hadn’t sucked the happy demeanour out of him. She wondered if he got his weird high from helping anyone, like all these random children, or only the special cases that Heaven dropped in his lap.

“Alya just told me that the Agrestes are here.”

“They are?” he sighed, looking relieved. “Thank goodness. Their people didn’t confirm they were coming.”

“That’s so lucky they came, then,” Marinette said, raising her eyebrows. It would have been a let-down if they hadn’t even shown up. “What now?”

“I’ll try and get a read on them, but probably nothing. Let them have a go at fixing this themselves – talk to some kids, listen to the speeches,” Adrien shrugged.

She supposed that was as good a plan as any.

They moved to the wings, watching the rest of the performance from backstage. She could easily see the roped-off area of the pavilion and the formal garden that was reserved for the VIPs, who would clearly have an excellent view of the proceedings on the stage, and the whole area. Looking out over the whole event, she was struck by the enormous achievement of what they had been able to put together.

She was musing on that thought when the bubbly singers came filing by her. One passed Adrien a microphone, and he was walking out onto the stage before she had the chance to question whether that was a good idea.

“Thank you so much to the Dancertrices!” he said, and the crowd applauded again. “And thank you so much to everyone who came out today to show their support and help raise funds for kids facing hardship in Paris.”

More adults clapped then, a larger crowd congregating to listen to what was happening onstage.

“I’ll be brief, but I just need to say a quick thank you to all the small businesses and artists and volunteers who rallied to support us today. The food stalls, performers, everyone who donated something to the raffle or the auction, have all given a huge gift to children who often go without,” he said, and Marinette could see that his earnest charisma was winning these people that way it affected everyone. “Especially big thankyous to the mairie of Paris, and our major sponsors, Roulator Motors: Driving the Now, and SoftAgo Computing, who have been especially generous. It’s my pleasure to announce that we have already raised over €10,000 for young people in need.”

A raucous cheer went up at that, and Adrien’s joyous laughter as he clapped with them reflected that pure celebration back to the world.

“Thank you, everyone, and please welcome Mayor Bourgeois of Paris to say a few words,” he said, giving a little wave of farewell to the audience and shaking the mayor’s hand as he crossed the stage.

Adrien returned to her side with a wide smile on his face.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Good – aren’t you? This isn’t just going to halt the damage Gabriel would do if we didn’t help him, but help so many people already suffering,” he murmured back, radiant expression beaming down at her.

“I’m proud of you,” she simply replied, kissing his cheek softly.

He looked at her long moment with a warm smile playing in his emerald eyes, before turning back to the stage.

+++

The atmosphere changed after sundown. A lot of the children went home, and the liquor licence was less strict after six o’clock. The whole place was less about screaming children, and more of an adult carnival. People milled about, drinking wine, queuing for the one rollercoaster Adrien had sourced from somewhere, sampling street food and perusing the wares of local artisans who had set up stalls while musicians played on the stage.

Marinette walked along, Adrien by her side, surveying the lights they had spent over two hours setting up that morning. They looked beautiful, swaying slightly in the night air. Alya was off somewhere, getting whatever scoop she could from Jagged Stone – whose performance of a few hits had been extremely exciting – or some other celebrity, but a few of her friends from her course were about, snapping the occasional photo of the scene.

“Marinette!” a familiar voice called. Looking around, she spotted Isabelle at one of the stalls that had only been set up at twilight.

“Isabelle!” she called back, jogging over to kiss her cheeks. “When did you get here?”

“Like, an hour ago. Thomas asked me to help peddle his wares,” she laughed. She embraced Adrien with easy familiarity as she continued to talk. “He’s been complaining about the face-painting, by the way. Even though he’s sold three paintings already and given out a wad of business cards.”

In recompense for his services earlier in the day, Adrien had guaranteed him a spot selling his _real_ art once the daytime festivities drew to a close, without the small fee he was charging the other vendors.

“It’s a sound business choice,” Thomas grinned. “But at what cost to my artistic integrity? I had two grown women request, nay, demand Lightning McQueen on their faces. It’s an insult to my abilities.”

“How did they look?” Adrien asked.

“Fantastic, of course,” he sniffed, and they all laughed.

Marinette’s phone buzzed. She smiled at the message.

“Hey, Sophie’s coming,” she announced.

“Sophie with the pink hair or Sophie with the step-father she never shuts up about?” Thomas asked.

“Neither. The one doing Commerce,” she answered.

“Oh, yeah, Catherine knows her,” Isabelle said. “She’s the one with the really cute face. You know, she wore that really crazy jumper and you said something about dead people and she sprayed iced tea everywhere?”

“Oh yeah, I remember her,” Thomas gasped. “She’s hilarious.”

“Well, she’ll be here in a few. I’ll tell her to come here first, and then we can all grab a drink together in a bit,” Marinette said. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

Receiving nods from the other two, she and Adrien kept walking.

“So, Agreste-update,” she said quietly. “How’s it looking?”

He sighed.

“They’ve been talking to people, including some of the orphans and the other kids,” he reported. “But I don’t think it’s enough.”

“You’re going to have to talk to them,” she pointed out.

He looked pained. He raked a hand through his hair, the light dully gleaming off the golden strands that framed his face. The dramatic lighting made him look every bit the angsty angel from a painting.

“You’re right,” he agreed.

“How about I go talk to them, and bring them to the back of the garden, just to try to make it a bit more private?” she suggested as they approached the VIP area. Most of the people who qualified for entry were out with everyone else, posing for the occasional photo but mostly wandering about unmolested, so hopefully there wouldn’t be much fall out if they made a scene.

Adrien flashed his pass to the sole guard at the entry, leaving her to slink along the side of the building to where a pair of unoccupied benches sat concealed by greenery.

She took a deep breath, summoning all her courage to approach the Agrestes where they sat at a table chatting to a famous soprano and the mayor and his wife.

She stood uncomfortably at Emilie Agreste’s elbow until there was a brief break in the conversation.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but if you have a moment, Monsieur and Madame Agreste, the organiser of the event would like the chance to speak to you,” she said.

Gabriel turned his cool gaze on her.

“Mademoiselle… Dupain-Cheng, no? It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, though he didn’t look terribly pleased. She could only hope this wouldn’t affect her chances of getting into the summer programme at his company.

Emilie looked slightly annoyed at his comment, throwing him a subtly reproachful look.

“Of course, we’ll speak to him,” she said, smiling politely at her and getting to her feet. She was surprisingly tall, and her voice was soft and sweet like it sounded in movies. Marinette tried not to be star-struck as she led her, and a dour Gabriel Agreste, to Adrien.

They entered the little grove through an archway covered with climbing roses. Quaint lantern-style outdoor lamps lit the little space. Where she not so apprehensive, she would have admired the romantic setting.

Adrien was facing half away from them, typing on his phone, when they approached. There was a beat, where he didn’t acknowledge them, and she felt she had to speak.

“This is Adrien,” she said tentatively. She saw Emilie flinch very slightly when she spoke the name. “He put this whole thing together.”

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, turning to look at them. His mother stiffened, though she couldn’t know it was him.

“Hello,” he greeted pleasantly, offering a hand for Gabriel to shake. It was only knowing him as well as she did that clued her in to the slight strain in his expression. “It’s nice to meet you both.” He leant forward to give Emilie the customary cheek kisses, which she returned, but Marinette could see the furrow in her brow.

Was it customary sorrow? Was it suspicion? She couldn’t tell.

“Congratulations on running a very successful event,” Gabriel said formally.

“Thank you,” he said. “Children growing up in difficult circumstances, particularly without parents, is something close to my heart. It’s a pleasure to be able to do something to try to alleviate that.”

“Quite,” was Gabriel’s only response.

Another beat of silence.

“Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?” Emilie prompted.

“Well, yes,” Adrien nodded, “and I’m aware you may find this somewhat intrusive, but I feel I have to bring it up. Regarding your son…”

“Stop right there,” Gabriel interrupted sharply. “I had a feeling about where this was going. If you think we are foolish enough to fall for your claims to be a long-lost relative, you might as well know you are not the first, and you’ve chose the wrong mark. Our son died as an infant. We were there. Have enough respect to leave it at that.”

“I know your son is dead, I don’t dispute that,” Adrien rushed before they could storm off, as Gabriel was clearly planning to do.

“What, then?” he asked sharply.

“I… have concerns,” Adrien said slowly, “about the pair of you. I believe you haven’t properly dealt with the loss of your son.”

Emilie looked flabbergasted, that a stranger with her son’s name would make such a comment. Gabriel looked equally taken aback, but far angrier. She drew breath to speak, but he cut her off.

“What on Earth makes you believe that that is any of your business?” he demanded.

“It’s not an issue of personal connection, so much, but more of a big-picture issue,” Adrien said, frowning as though displeased or even shocked that he had offended them. “It’s not heathy to dwell on something for so long; it has far-reaching consequences beyond what we might realise.”

His efforts at diplomacy were not as successful as he might have hoped. Gabriel was clearly very much displeased by that response.

“How dare you lecture us? What do you know of any of this?” he hissed.

Emilie cut in before he could continue.

“Who are you?” she asked quietly. There was an odd tone in her voice that Marinette couldn’t read. She wondered if Adrien could.

“That’s not necessarily relevant to the point,” he hedged.

“A remarkably suspicious evasion,” she said shrewdly.

“I can’t really say,” he replied.

“What is your name really?” she pressed.

“Adrien.”

“Adrien what?” Gabriel demanded.

“Just Adrien,” he sighed.

“You,” Gabriel snapped, turning to face Marinette. She shrunk back slightly. “How do you know this man?”

“Well, we only met fairly recently,” she said, not wanting any part in this conversation. “He told me his name was Adrien. No last name.”

That was true. It was also unhelpful enough that Gabriel pursed his lips and looked away from her immediately, though Emilie’s elegant countenance was thoughtful as she regarded her.

“What would you have us do differently, then, Adrien with no last name?” she asked, long eyebrows arching upwards.

“I believe you will bolster your strength and happiness by relying on one another, by being open about your struggles and compassionate with other people’s,” he smiled. “Your son may have passed, but that doesn’t have to be the end of your own lives.”

Gabriel straightened his perfectly knotted necktie, which already sat straight and centred under his grey blazer.

“I don’t know why you think we would listen to the ramblings of a –”

“He’s right, Gabriel,” Emilie said, uncustomary sharpness in her tone.

“I beg your pardon?” he blinked.

“It’s rather odd, maybe rude, for someone to say it so brazenly,” she sighed. “I’ll allow that. But I don’t see why we should be so downright offended by it. He’s not wrong. I have never healed from the loss of our little angel, but neither have you, and certainly not our marriage. When was the last time you asked me how I was? When was the last time we talked much about anything?”

Gabriel was dumbstruck. Adrien was solemn. Marinette was supremely uncomfortable but tentatively hopeful.

“I love you, Gabriel. But can’t you see I’m miserable? Can’t you see none of this is getting any better?” she pleaded.

“Nothing has been easy since that day,” he said quietly, adjusting his glasses. “But it is getting better. It has to be.”

“I miss my husband. I miss how we were before. Even before I was pregnant,” she said, a hand on his cheek.

He put a hand over hers, and they just looked at each other for a long time. Marinette got the impression it was the first time they had really looked at each other in a long time. They were like two lovers separated for an age, finally reunited. Maybe that’s what they were – finally making the effort to overcome the separation forced by their grief. She looked away, uncomfortable intruding on such a private moment.

“I’ll try harder,” he murmured at last.

“Me, too,” she answered.

Marinette would have left a while ago, had not the Agrestes been blocking the exit. She considered trying to climb through a gap in the bushes, but didn’t like her chances against the roses.

Adrien also felt it was the time to make an exit, apparently. Throwing her an ‘oh, well’ sort of look, he spoke quietly.

“My apologies for meddling in your business,” he said. “And to you, Marinette, for dragging you into it. We’ll both get out of your way.”

Gabriel stepped aside and Marinette darted back under the arch with an apologetic bob of her head, out of the private garden.

She paused just out of view, though, just out of view, when she heard Emilie’s voice.

“Wait!” she cried. “I still want to know who you are. A name is a name; who are you really?”

There was a silence, during which she imagined Adrien was trying to think of an answer that was true enough for him to be able to say it. She wondered if he was hoping she would reappear and lie for him, but she knew she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look into Emilie Agreste’s knowing, vulnerable, green eyes and lie to her face.

“I can’t answer that question,” he said, and he sounded pained.

“Why not?” she pressed.

“I can’t answer that question, either,” he replied.

“I have to say, you and I do look quite alike,” she said.

“Emilie,” Gabriel warned, sounding tired. Marinette had to wonder if they’d been through this kind of thing before.

“That’s true,” Adrien acknowledged, but said nothing further.

“Who are your parents?” she asked desperately.

“I wasn’t raised by my parents,” he said after a pause.

“Tell me the truth,” she implored.

There was a pause, and it sounded like Adrien let out a frustrated sigh. She could picture him running his hands through his hair.

“Marinette was right,” he mumbled. “She said I should just tell the whole truth, even though I’m not supposed to. I guess I’ll give you a hint.”

She smiled. They deserved to know the truth. Emilie Agreste deserved to know her baby hadn’t been swallowed by the void of the universe – he was still here, even if he wasn’t always nearby.

She didn’t get to listen in on that discussion, though, because something at the entry to the garden caught her eye. There, exiting the pavilion and looking around, was a familiar, clad in artfully distressed jeans and a perfectly oversized jumper, was a familiar figure.

Marinette jogged over to her before she could barge in on the family reunion.

“Chloé!” she called. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Marinette,” she said, somehow making her name sound like an insult. “As if it isn’t obvious, I’m here for Adrien.”

“For Adrien?” Marinette repeated. “Do you have a message for him?”

Chloé looked annoyed, or more annoyed, at that. She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“Not per se,” she drawled. “I’m here to bring him back. His time here is up.”

“Right now?” Marinette gasped. So soon after he was reunited with his parents? It was too cruel.

“In a few minutes, actually,” she corrected, inspecting her nails. “And I do hate cutting things close, so if you don’t mind…”

“No, wait,” Marinette rushed, grasping the other woman’s arm. Chloé stared at where her hand gripped her forearm pointedly until she let go.

“For what, Marinette?” she sighed impatiently.

“Can’t you give him a little more time?” she pleaded. “It’s so unfair. He’s only just meeting… certain people. It’s too soon.” She realised halfway through her sentence that that line of reasoning may not appeal to Chloé. Adrien had said once that angels were told to stay away from their human relatives and not try to find out who they were. Admitting that he was with his parents right now, and revealing company secrets in all likelihood, may not score him any points.

“His parents, yes,” Chloé said flatly. “I’m aware of that. Of course, that’s why I’m here; he’s done what he needed to do, and Gabriel Agreste is no longer on the dark path he was heading for. We cannot linger here.”

“But,” Marinette protested, but Chloé held up a hand and looked away.

“There’s no point arguing with me,” she said. “I was told to come, so I’m here. And the time I’ve allotted for this conversation is almost up. The exact moment that he and I have to leave is fast approaching, so if you don’t mind getting out of my way and his…”

There was nothing she could do, then. Adrien was leaving, and leaving now. His parents would be so sad…

And she would never see him again, in all probability.

That realisation hit her so suddenly, the pain of it almost overcame her. Intellectually, she had known this day would come, and that it would suck when it arrived, but she hadn’t actually been prepared for it. She had thought she was saying goodbye once before, but that was so long ago, she had only had him with her for a few days at that point. Now, she almost couldn’t imagine what she would do without him following her to classes, asking weird questions, performing magic tricks with the power of righteous goodness.

She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, face blank, the first few tears spilling over onto her cheeks.

“Are you crying?” Chloé asked, incredulous.

Marinette didn’t reply, desperately trying to keep her breathing under control. Now was not the time for ugly sobbing.

“You are,” Chloé mumbled, bewildered.

“Why are you so mean?” Marinette burst out. “I would have thought angels would all be friendly and understanding and kind. But you’re just rude! And totally cold.”

Chloé regarded her in silence for a moment.

“I’m not evil, or cruel,” she said at last. “I couldn’t be; you’re right, all of us are… moral, if not always friendly. But I suppose you’ve never asked yourself what kind of tasks I have to perform when I come to Earth. You’ve spent a little time with Adrien, with a cupid, so you think you know what it’s like to be me? His kind have it easy: it’s all love hearts and rainbows with the cupids. I come down here and have to tell mortals all kinds of things. And you know what? It’s never the lottery numbers. You think you’re the first person to beg me for mercy I can’t give?”

Marinette stared, stunned into silence. Chloé must have had to say some ugly things, see people at their worst. She wondered now what kind of messages she normally brought, when she wasn’t helping other angels with her peek into the future. Adrien’s wholesome quest to bring love had put him in some uncomfortable positions, like breaking up marriages. She could only guess at the kinds of things a grittier role would entail.

“That’s why you don’t like mortals?” she guessed. “Because of the kinds of things you have to tell them?”

“I don’t have a problem with mortals,” Chloé shook her head. “I just can’t afford to empathise. When I talk to them, something terrible is almost always about to happen, or already happening.”

She could understand that.

“Now, I’m sorry that it’s sad for you, but I have to go. You can come and say goodbye,” Chloé continued, her voice less harsh than usual.

Marinette nodded, wiping her face and leading the way back to where she had left him.

Chloé swept past her when she hesitated at the arch, barging in on the scene, where Emilie was crying and Adrien was holding her hands with a sombre expression.

“Adrien,” Chloé said, getting the attention of all three of them. “It’s time to go home.”

“Who are you?” Gabriel asked defensively, emotion roughening his smooth voice.

“She’s here to take me back where I belong,” Adrien answered for her, resignation written across his face.

“To take you?” Emilie repeated, panic in her voice. “You’re leaving already?”

“I have to,” he said softly.

“Can’t you stay? Where you belong is with us,” she insisted.

“I can’t. I don’t belong here anymore,” he said sadly, gently prying himself free.

“Please,” she whispered, but with one agonised look at each of his parents, he turned away and walked to Chloé’s side.

He turned to look at them once more, where they now stood clinging to each other.

“Be kind to each other,” he said. “Until we meet again.”

Emilie let out a sob, but he followed Chloé when she turned and walked away.

Adrien spotted her, hanging back from the archway as he left he secluded grove. She stepped up beside him as Chloé led the way through a small gap in the hedge that surrounded the whole formal garden, taking them through to the utilitarian rear of the building. She led them past the loading door and around the bank of dumpsters.

“What did you end up telling them?” Marinette whispered to Adrien as they walked, following Chloé’s bouncing golden hair that was at odds with the ugly concrete and peeling paint that surrounded them.

“They know I was born their son,” he replied. “But that I can’t stay with them, I’m not really like them anymore. But that I’m okay, and they should try to be okay, too.”

Chloé stopped, stepping into an alcove in the building. No one was around, but if someone did wander out the back, they wouldn’t be able to see what was happening without coming right up to them. The perfect spot to transcend the physical dimension.

“You have one minute,” she said, and then turned to face away from them and studiously examine her nails, the hair resting in front of her shoulders, anything but them. It was the most privacy they would get.

She turned to look up into Adrien’s wide eyes, trying to keep the sorrow off her own face. He looked… confused. Conflicted. Upset, certainly, but also like there was one piece missing from the puzzle.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing, I guess,” he sighed. “Your soul, I’m just trying to figure it out. But I guess it doesn’t matter. What will happen will happen, and it will be good. Follow your heart and never be afraid to chase what you want, Marinette.”

“Okay,” she smiled, though she was quickly working up a fresh batch of tears. “You too, though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, long brows curving up in pain.

She pulled him into a hug, and he squeezed her until it almost hurt. She felt herself lifted off the ground, though he stayed bowed down around her. They were clinging to each other so tightly she could feel his heart beating against hers.

“Twenty seconds,” Chloé warned.

Adrien let her go reluctantly, placing a hand on her cheek.

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

“See you on the other side,” she joked weakly.

With a wet smile, he leant down and her the traditional French double kiss in farewell, taking care to touch his lips to her cheeks instead of the casual cheek press.

He stepped away, squeezing into Chloé’s alcove beside her. The small space was cast in a strange, dull glow as their skin took on an otherworldly glow.

“Stand back,” he said, giving her one last look before closing his eyes. His voice rang with the strange, inhuman quality, the insistent vibration of a bell mixing with the rich timbre of his normal voice. It hurt her ears, not terribly loud but still almost too much sound to process.

She took a few steps back, squinting slightly as the light coming off the pair of them grew brighter. They pressed their hands together, looking like a pair of worshippers from a stained-glass window in a church.

Blinding light spilt forth from their open eyes, making Marinette hold an arm up to block out some of it as she tried to watch through slitted eyes.

There was a final wave of light that whited out the area, and then it faded.

When she could open her eyes, she slowly dropped the hands she had thrown over them.

They were gone.

She stood there dumbly, hands hanging by her sides. Adrien was gone. He was back where he belonged, and that was that.

She felt a tear running down her neck and into the top of her shirt, tickling her skin, but she didn’t move.

It was a while later that her phone started vibrating in her pocket.

She sniffled, robotically fishing it out and accepting the call without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello,” she said dully.

“Hey, Marinette, are you good? No one has seen you,” came a woman’s voice one the other end.

“Yeah, I just had to take care of something. I’ll come back in about ten minutes.”

“Okay,” the woman said, stretching out the sound in the unique way that made her recognise it as Sophie speaking. “Say ‘cool, cool, cool’ if you need help. You sound weird, Marine.”

“I’m fine. I’ll explain in a bit,” Marinette said, her voice still flat. She hung up without waiting for a reply.

She sat down roughly, the cold seeping up from the concrete through her jeans, and stared at the wall. She did nothing except stare for a while, until she felt her thoughts calm and the tears on her face were dry.

She got to her feet, dusted off her pants, and rubbed her face.

Adrien was gone, and she would miss him for a long time. But it was up to her to wrap up this event, to make sure the funds they had raised were sent to the right accounts, and that the good he did while he was here stuck.

She had friends waiting for her, who would coo sympathetically and rub her back when she told them Adrien was gone, and would help her feel that she wasn’t alone when she thought about the hole left in her life.

She had a life, and she was going to live it.


	23. Absentee

A pop song that had played incessantly on the radio six months ago floated out of unseen speakers overhead as Marinette dawdled down the aisle. Raspberry jam, strawberry jam, orange marmalade, orange and mandarin marmalade, cranberry sauce…

She scanned the labels for something that appealed, but the special quince, strawberry and vanilla jam she had gotten from a market couldn’t be replaced by something off a commercial shelf.

She sighed, grabbing a random jar and heading for the checkouts with a resigned air.

When she turned, though, she noticed a woman standing at the end of the aisle, half concealed by the shelves.

She was short and slender, with delicate features and rich colouring, her black hair falling in ringlets around her shoulders. More notably, she seemed to be staring at Marinette with an odd expression on her face.

Marinette stared back. After a second, the stranger’s expression wiped clean and she disappeared from view. Perhaps she had thought she knew her, and realised once she got a good look at her face that she had made a mistake. There was nothing all that odd about the exchange, but it made her purse her lips in thought as she made her way to the front of the shop.

There had been something familiar about the woman; she just couldn’t place it.

+++

Marinette flicked one of the short pigtails that sat at the back of her neck as she looked out over the room. She eyed the crowd, but it was hard to pick out even the friends she had come with from the dancing throng of people, bathed in red, flashing lights that washed the details from faces.

The warm weather made people more inclined to go out, apparently, and since it was the last summer before a number of her friends started full-time, grown-up jobs, this was not the first night that had seen her dragged out to some club to dance the night away.

Alya and Nino had rallied a number of their high school friendship circle for a dinner, which had of course ended up here, in a club that was having a special “karaoke favourites” night. They had busted out their most ridiculous moves as they screamed along to songs from Mr. Brightside to Super Bass.

She had excused herself to go to the bathroom when Bohemian Rhapsody had come on, though. She loved that song, like everyone, but hearing it again had brought on a sudden and intense memory.

She remembered clinging to Adrien’s arm as they had pressed through a crowded apartment, leaning in close to be heard over the din as everyone in attendance struggled to yell out the lyrics in time with the music. She remembered the way his lips brushed against her skin when he leant close to speak to her in the noisy space. She remembered the feel of his body under her hands, the look in his eyes when they danced together, the dreamy smile on his face when he contrived a love connection right there on the dance floor.

She remembered Adrien. She recalled every detail of his life over the weeks he had been with her in perfect clarity. How he looked, how he smelt, how his eyes blinked wide with innocence and openness. The feeling of his lips against hers, and that final, gentle kiss against her cheek before he had left her for good.

The months apart had done nothing to dull her memories of him.

She had stared at her reflection for a good while, trying to calm down.

When she had emerged from the bathroom, she wove through the crowd until she reached the bar.

Sipping her vodka and coke, she was weighing up whether to try to get back into the groove of the evening, or just go home. On one hand, she could really go for a ‘movie she had seen a hundred times and curling up into a ball in bed’ session, but on the other, forgetting her heartbreak was going to be more likely surrounded by other people, particularly old friends.

She batted at her pigtail again as she thought about her options. Maybe pretending to have fun until it paid off was better than wallowing…

Her musing was interrupted when she spotted her.

A woman with a mane of curly hair on the other end of the bar, around its corner, was staring at her. It was hard to make out details this far away, but something made Marinette certain that it was the same person as the one who had stared at her in the supermarket. And now, looking at her again, she realised why she had seemed so familiar earlier on.

The same woman, though her hair had been slicked back into a neat bun to match her crisp blazer, had been on her morning train.

The woman stared, or rather frowned, at her even as Marinette gaped back. She looked as if she were concentrating, like she was struggling to read text written in faded ink. It reminded her of the way Adrien had eyed her sometimes, when he was trying to work out her special soul-aura.

With a pang of some unnamed emotion, she realised that this stranger may be doing the same thing. She was circling Marinette’s path just as Adrien had. Could she be an angel? Beyond being young and beautiful, she didn’t look anything like Adrien. But, neither had the others she had met. Without a peek at her back, there was no easy way to tell.

The woman shook her head, dismissing whatever interest she had in Marinette, and turned away from the bar, moving for the exit.

Panic lanced through her. She had to talk to this woman, see if she knew anything about Adrien. She hadn’t had any hint if he had made it home okay, if he was happy, if he was ever coming back… She didn’t really know what she expected this other angel to tell her, and she didn’t have time to dwell on the logic of her thinking. All she knew, was that her only possible link to him was walking away from her.

Pushing away from the bar, she started pushing through the crowd as quickly as she could without actively shoving people aside. The number of people waiting for drinks, though, made it hard to get by. She had already lost sight of the angel.

An idea came to her as she squeezed between two girls with brightly dyed hair and tall platforms.

Pressing her hands together, in case that helped boost the signal of a prayer, she cast her eyes upwards and directed her thoughts outwards.

 _Please, whoever you are, just wait,_ she prayed. _I really need to talk to you. Just give me a minute of your time._

She didn’t know what the angel’s name was, so there was no guarantee she would even listen to what Marinette was mentally shouting. When she had prayed standing close to Adrien, he had somehow picked up on it, and she was likely to be the only person praying around here. Maybe this angel would sense her plea, too.

The crowd thinned out near the exit. She paused, casting about for the woman, when she spied her. Standing next to the door, eyeing her with an interested expression.

When Marinette started towards her, she turned and walked past the bouncers and into the street.

Marinette followed her into the warm night air, a few metres away from the clusters of people smoking cigarettes by the door. The woman turned to face her, waiting.

Now that she had her attention, Marinette didn’t really know what to say.

“Um, hi,” she said, twisting her fingers. “Thanks for talking to me.”

The woman just nodded, waiting.

“So, I get that I might sound a bit… wacky,” she continued self-consciously, “but I need to ask you something. About someone.”

A shrewd look crossed the woman’s face.

“Who?” she asked.

“Adrien,” she breathed.

The angel’s lips twitched slightly, but her expression remained the same.

“Adrien who?”

“Just Adrien. He doesn’t technically have a last name. He’s one of you,” Marinette said, lowering her voice.

“Ah,” the angel grinned, starting to nod. “I see, now.”

“See? See what?” she pressed.

“I see what I was missing, looking at the destinies that swirl around you,” she said. “I am Dipti, a cupid only a little older than your Adrien. I see the love you are bound for, the changes to come, the confusion of crossing paths with the one intended to stand with you before you were ready to come together.”

Marinette’s eyes went wide. It was one thing to suspect, but to have Dipti confirm her hunch, and then corroborate Adrien’s assessments of her spiritual energy readout, was another.

“Most of all,” Dipti went on, “I see that your life has the mark of one that is to be shaped by the interference of angels. I wondered what it is that I needed to do to help you on your path, but now I know.”

“What?” she whispered, afraid to hear it.

“Nothing more, I think,” she answered, a serene expression washing over her sweet face. “There isn’t long left until you will be united with the person you have been waiting for your whole life. Longer than you should have been waiting.”

“What does that mean?” Marinette frowned. “How long is ‘not long’? And if it’s already overdue, then what makes you so confident it’ll pan out this time?”

Dipti looked like she wanted to laugh, but she forged on before the diminutive angel before her got the chance.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but destiny or whatever doesn’t always go according to plan,” Marinette ranted. “I know for a fact that when things on Earth rely on angel intervention, even they mess up sometimes.”

“I am well aware,” Dipti said indulgently. “Nevertheless, believe me when I say that your resolution is imminent.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “But my destiny isn’t really what I wanted to ask you about.”

“No?”

“No. I want to know if Adrien is alright,” she pressed.

“Oh, well, yes. I know him to be well,” Dipti said, taken aback. “He is perfect; he is safe in Heaven.”

“Good. Have you, um, seen him recently?” she asked, trying not to sound too hung up on him.

“Yes.”

“Cool. Right,” Marinette nodded. She smiled, but she knew it was a bit weak. “Well, I mean, if you see him again, when you go home, could you tell him I said hi, and that I’m okay?” The request was awkward, but she wanted to get some message to him.

Dipti gave her bit of a look, but nodded kindly.

“Thanks. Also, could you tell him that I hope he can visit at some point?” she asked. She hoped Dipti wouldn’t recount the way her voice quavered slightly as she spoke.

The angel nodded again, though there were hints of what looked like amusement dancing about her expression. Marinette would have been surprised if this angel was taking pleasure out of her discomfort and sadness, so decided to ignore it.

“Well, I guess that’s all I wanted to say,” she finished, grimacing slightly.

Dipti took her one of her hands, holding it between her own.

“Do not worry, Marinette,” she said earnestly, holding her gaze. “Believe me when I tell you that your happiness will find you, and that you need only have the courage to accept what you want when it is offered. All your goodness will be rewarded.”

Marinette blinked at the earnest encouragement in her deep brown eyes, nodding in silent acceptance of her advice. Dipti released her hand, and with one more kind smile, turned and walked away.

Marinette watched her round the corner before she turned back to the club, flashing the stamp on her wrist to get back in.

She was already sipping another vodka and coke with an arm around Nino’s shoulders, listening to his take on an upcoming game, before she realised that she hadn’t told Dipti her name.

She wondered how she had simply known it.

+++

It was nearly four in the morning by the time Marinette trudged up to her room. With the fog of fatigue and alcohol swirling around her head for the last few hours, she had had only enough brainpower left to live in the moment.

Her problems were miles away.

But now, all she wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep until lunchtime tomorrow.

Unzipping her boots, she kicked them off in the middle of the room, dropping the large shirt she had worn over her dress onto the floor as she headed towards the bed.

She dragged the hair-ties out of her hair, slipping them over her wrist and commencing the struggle of wiggling out of her clingy dress, still slightly damp with sweat and all the less co-operative for it.

She managed to escape it, though, and tossed it over the back of a chair on her way past. Her socks were thrown over the handrail as she mounted the stairs, just steps away from her bed.

She paused, looking down at the main part of her room. With the mess strewn across the floor – her work clothes from earlier, the discarded options for the night and the dirty clothes she had just removed, it reminded her of the mess Adrien had always left on her floor. She had long packed his things away; some she had donated to charity, some she had stored at the back of her closet.

She grabbed the large t-shirt from her bed, pulling it on after dropping her bra onto the floor with the rest of the things to clean up tomorrow, and descended the steps. She walked to the wall of pictures, looking for one in particular.

Pinned in the middle of the collection was one of Alya, Marinette and Adrien. Alya had taken it, only half her face in frame as she held an arm out towards the two of them. Marinette had her legs draped over Adrien’s lap, throwing up double peace signs, while he gave the camera a genuine smile.

She sighed, touching his image. It seemed to just be a day for pining. She had been doing well – really well, lately – of moving on, of keeping the good moments and the things she had learnt with her, but not dwelling on his absence too much.

Everyone had their off days, she supposed.

With another sigh, she turned away. She took one and a half steps towards her bed, and froze.

Listening.

An unfamiliar sound overhead had made her stop.

Sometimes there was the sound of birds lightly scraping or squawking overhead, but this sounded like a much heavier thud. Human footsteps?

She tried not to panic, standing stock still in her room lit only by the low light coming in the windows as she listened.

There was no lock on the trapdoor to the terrace, for obvious reasons. It could only really be accessed from her bedroom.

So who was up there? How had they gotten up there? And would they beat her up and steal her valuables when they broke into her bedroom in the dead of night? She wished she hadn’t gotten undressed if she was going to have to fend off an aggravated burglar. 

About three seconds after the initial sound, the trapdoor opened quietly.

Marinette drew breath to scream, but couldn’t make a sound, frozen in shock.

A figure – far too big to be a rogue pigeon – slipped through the hole. Also too big to be a human.

The figure straightened, moving slightly so that the moonlight illuminated their silhouette.

It was indeed the shape of a person, but not exactly a human. It was a man, with a pair of great wings extending from each shoulder.

“Marinette?” he spoke, and she almost fainted from shock, from relief, from joy, from a million other feelings all welling up inside her chest.

“Adrien,” she sighed.


	24. Home Invader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit adult content is in italics, can be skipped over.

Marinette fumbled for a light switch in the dark. She squinted in the sudden brightness, but there he was. His hair was a little longer, grown past the tops of his shoulders, but other than that he looked exactly the same.

Adrien leapt off the edge of her mezzanine, stepping off the balustrade and dropping lightly to the floor in front of her, glossy black wings softening his landing.

He wore plain black trousers and no shoes, interestingly. Of course, he had no shirt, needing to leave his wings free.

He said nothing for a moment, simply standing in front of her, breathing heavily. His eyes flicked over her face, his own expression blank. He couldn’t seem to settle enough to say anything.

“What are you doing here?” she said, breaking the silence of the room. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his impressive form; he would have looked more at home in a dark Renaissance painting than her pink bedroom lit poorly by a single desk lamp.

“I’m here to see you,” he said softly, finally meeting her eyes steadily. That smile that felt like the sun breaking through an overcast sky stretched his lips, and she smiled back.

With a breathless laugh, she grabbed him, hugging him fiercely around his waist. She felt the stiff brush of feathers against the back of her hand where his wings touched her, his warm arms wrapping around her tightly as he returned her embrace, his heartbeat beneath her cheek. He didn’t smell like he normally did – strongly of whatever fruity shower product he had found – but instead like smoke and night air in the city.

“I wasn’t sure you would,” she whispered. “I thought I might never see you again.”

“I told you I would come back if I could,” he said, stroking her hair. The normally sleek strands were frizzy and rough from the teased pigtails she had sported earlier, not having had the hairspray brushed out of it yet.

“But you also said you didn’t know if you could,” she pointed out, leaning back to look at him.

He brushed his hand against the side of her face. He looked into her eyes with a soulful gaze that made her wonder how obvious the pain of his departure was displayed on her features.

His hand pressed more firmly to the side of her face, and he leant down to kiss her.

“Wait,” she whispered, and he pulled back.

“What?” he murmured, tipping his head to the side with a confused frown. It made him look like a puppy, and she wanted to laugh. She would have, under different circumstances.

As things were, she stepped out of his arms, crossing her own over her chest. She dropped into her desk chair and swivelled to and fro.

“As much as I want to, we have to be smart about this,” she said, biting her lip.

“I don’t understand,” he said, furrowing his brow.

“I know you wouldn’t mean to break my heart or anything, but you have to realise that this… whole thing is very upsetting for me,” she explained, unable to look at him, yet unable to look away. She kept glancing away, at anything else, before her eyes were pulled back to run over his perfect face, his long legs, his exposed chest, the dark wings folded behind him.

He let out a huff, coming closer and plopping onto the floor at her feet.

“Marinette, you don’t understand what my being here means,” he said in a low voice, with an undercurrent of excitement that made her meet his gaze. “You know I wasn’t supposed to die in that car accident. My parents’ lives weren’t supposed to be destroyed like that. Countless other things were screwed up by my death.”

She nodded along with his words.

“We have to go home when it’s not our time to interfere, but Marinette, I’m not meddling in things that aren’t my business,” he continued urgently. “I’m supposed to be here, on Earth, amongst the living.”

She gaped at him, waiting for him to say what she thought he was going to say. He pulled her hands into her lap, holding them gently in his own.

“Fate can get twisted, and mine is about as messed up as it can get,” he laughed. “But the strongest part of my destiny is that it’s entwined with yours, Marinette. And I’m going to be allowed to stay here to follow it.”

She couldn’t speak, but the way she clutched at his fingers made him smile.

“The word has come from some of the older angels that apart from when I’m required for work that would have brought me to Earth or something important in Heaven, I’m free to live here,” he said breathlessly, leaning closer and holding her stunned gaze. “With you. And my parents. And all the wonderful, crazy, chaotic people I’ve met here.”

“So, you’re my ‘ _the one’_?” she asked wetly.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I guess I am. Some people can’t even be parted by death.”

A weird combination of a laugh and a sob escaped her. She shoved off the chair and knelt on the ground to pull him to her.

He rubbed her back, his own body shaking slightly with his emotional laughter.

They rocked back and forth for a while until they got a hold on themselves.

She pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, the only place she could reach while he clutched her to him, and then another.

He loosened his hold, allowing her to look at him. She took his face between her small hands, staring solemnly into his eyes.

“I love you,” she said earnestly. It was a relief to admit it out loud.

“And I love you,” he answered, voice soft and eyes blazing.

She pressed her lips to his, sighing at the long-awaited contact.

_His fingers gripped the loose fabric of her large shirt as he pulled her closer, lips sliding luxuriously against hers._

_She let her hands wander, one gliding through his soft blond hair, the other trailing down his spine. She felt that snap of electricity run over her and through the air, and when her fingers brushed over his smooth shoulder blade she wasn’t surprised that his wings were gone, returned to their two-dimensional state._

_Their kiss continued to deepen, their breath growing louder as tongues pressed and teeth pulled. The energy between them became more desperate; desperate to be closer, to show each other how much they were loved._

_Adrien’s hands ran over her back, her ribs and hips, her thighs which her shirt left uncovered. The sensation of his fingers dragging up the side of her leg, continuing up over the lacy trim of her underwear onto her hip while his teeth pulled lightly at her lower lip made her shiver._

_She ran a hand from his shoulder down to his waistband._

_“The bed,” she murmured against his mouth._

_He hummed in agreement, hooking a hand behind one of her knees and wrapping the other arm around her back. He stood in one smooth movement, her legs easily going around his waist while he held her to him._

_She concentrated her attention on the side of his throat so that he could navigate up the steps to her bed._

_He managed without too much difficultly, though his slow pace and the hand that roved over her rear indicated that he might have been struggling to focus. He made it, though, sitting on the edge of the bed with her straddling his lap._

_She let out a giggle as she wiggled closer, pressing down onto him as she did. He smiled back, a surprisingly sweet smile given the context. She kissed him tenderly, and his caresses on the bare skin of her neck and thigh were achingly gentle. She wasn’t content with a sedate pace for long, though, dragging her nails down his back and rolling her weight against his crotch as a silent request for more._

_His hands groped at her hips, sliding under her pyjamas and pressing into skin as he urged her closer. She ground against him harder, her head lolling to the side as he bit her neck where he had been sucking at it._

_A fingertip slid under the waistband of her knickers, running around to the front, then pausing. He seemed to hesitate._

_“It’s okay,” she panted, taking his hand and guiding it between them. She splayed her fingers against the back of his much larger hand, already thrilling at the feeling of his hand inside her clothes._

_She gently pushed his middle finger against the soft flesh at her centre, the ample wetness sliding against both their hands already. She guided his finger back and forth in a smooth rhythm, and then farther back, pushing into her._

_Her eyes were closed, focused on the feeling of his hand under hers and his fingers sliding inside her, and her breath came in shaky gasps._

_He seemed to be getting the hang of it, caressing her sensitive softness and easing deeper every other push, so she withdrew her hand, placing both on his shoulders._

_She opened her eyes, meeting his intense emerald gaze as she moved her body to meet his fingers._

_“Use two,” she instructed in a husky voice, and he obeyed wordlessly. The wet sounds coming from their movement and her uneven gasping embarrassed her on some level, but the eager intensity of Adrien’s expression staved off the worst of it._

_She hummed in pleasure when he pressed his hand deep and wiggled his fingers slightly, but she knew this wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to feel closer still._

_His free hand was pressed to the small of her back under her shirt, and she reached back to move it to her chest. He squeezed her supple flesh, thumb running experimentally around her nipple._

_“Can I take it off?” he asked, and she nodded eagerly. She helped him pull it off so he wouldn’t have to stop the delicious friction between her legs. His rhythm faltered, though, as he took in her form as she dropped the shirt onto the floor somewhere behind her._

_He ran his eyes over her bared flesh with a hungry look in his eye, and she blushed. It was daunting to be so obviously observed. He loved her, though, and there was nothing other than passion on his face._

_Taking hold of his wrist, she kept his fingers pushing into her as she shifted back slightly. He swirled his hand against her folds, sending a shudder through her. Unperturbed, she continued with her intent to reach for the fly of his slacks. In the back of her mind, she noted the high quality of the pants as she unzipped them. Elegant cut, good quality materials…_

_She reached in, feeling his hard length through the soft fabric of his briefs._

_He let out a moan, earning a grin from her._

_She stood on shaky legs, biting her lip at the feel of his fingers sliding out of her. She shimmied out of her panties, leaving her totally nude, and plucked at the fabric that covered his knee._

_“Fair’s fair,” she murmured._

_Adrien got to his feet, letting his pants drop and shedding his underwear, too. Marinette moved around him, lying down and pulling at his hand so that he would join her._

_He followed willingly, body over hers as he immediately captured her mouth again in a searing kiss. Their hands reached and caressed, she bit his shoulder and he sucked at her neck. He hitched her knee up over his hip, settling more of his weight at the juncture of her legs._

_“Oh, crap, I don’t have a condom,” she remembered suddenly. She wondered if she could be bothered making a run to the chemist this late – or early._

_He gave her a thoughtful look._

_“If you want to use one, that’s fine,” he said. “But I have no diseases and can’t have children.” She did recall him saying that angels couldn’t beget offspring._

_She shook her head._

_“That’s perfect,” she laughed softly. “I’ll save a fortune on contraception.”_

_He laughed too before capturing her lips again._

_She brought her other knee up, his hips resting atop hers and the weight of him hinting at the release she wanted but not providing it._

_“Adrien,” she panted, pressing her hips up against him as a cue._

_He ground down against her obligingly, his length sliding against her smoothly. She made an approving noise in her throat, and he repeated the action. A few motions later, the tip of him was nudging at her entrance._

_She held her legs wider, nodding frantically when he sent her a questioning glance._

_He pushed into her slowly, earning a shuddering moan from her, then pulled back out at a luxurious pace. Her fingernails dug into his back as he repeated the motion._

_He couldn’t resist, thankfully, speeding up after a few slow thrusts. He kissed her neck desperately, encouraged by the throaty sounds she made. She clutched at him, desperate for purchase as the slick sense of fullness made her shake._

_The pace of her rapid breathing increased further as an almost painful excess of energy built up inside her. Adrien moved faster in keeping with her breath, until it was suddenly too much._

_She came with a violent shudder, wrapping her arms around him as she whispered his name. She felt him come too, teeth digging into the tendon running up into her neck as he rode it out._

_They calmed slowly, and he lifted his head to look into her eyes._

_“I’m so happy you’re here with me,” she whispered._

_He graced her with the softest smile she had ever seen in her life. He moved to lie behind her, pulling her into his chest as he pulled the blankets over them from where she had left them scrunched at the end of the bed._

_“Being with you is more than I ever thought to want,” he murmured into her hair._

_He wrapped her in his arms, and she drifted off to the most restful sleep she had ever enjoyed._

+++

“Dude, Saturday means sleeping in but it also means no work so you have to spend time with your old – WHAT THE EVER-LOVING HELL?”

The yelling woke Marinette with a start.

She half-sat up, casting about for the source of the racket.

Alya stood, poised to take the final step onto the sleeping level of her bedroom, completely frozen as she stared at Marinette.

There was a moment of total confusion in her sleepy mind before it all snapped into place.

“Good morning, Alya,” a deep voice yawned next to her, and she turned to look at its source.

Adrien sat beside her, ruffling his still-perfect mop of hair as he stretched. The covers concealed the fact that he was probably still naked from the waist down, but Marinette’s naked shoulders and the way she held the sheet to her chest probably clued Alya in to the situation – if the clothes thrown on the floor weren’t enough of a clue.

“It’s midday, so not really,” Alya said, remarkably evenly as her eyes continued to bug out of her head. She was recovering, though, which meant that the questions were coming.

“Alya, can you wait in the kitchen for a few minutes?” she asked as calmly as possible.

Even Alya had enough respect for boundaries to avoid the post-sex wake-up. The walk of shame to her own living room…

Alya nodded, throwing Marinette one last meaningful look before hopping down the steps and high-tailing it downstairs, closing the trapdoor behind her.

She turned to Adrien. Adrien smiled casually back. She was almost mad that he was so clueless – surely he had to suffer through the shame by her side? If not to a greater extent, because _her_ best friend had busted him in _her_ bed?

No such luck.

He smiled down at her with a serene expression, looking like he had not a care in the world. Looking like he had everything he could possibly want. Looking like he was in love.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, concern touching his face as he registered her expression.

“Uh, mortified, how about you?” she snipped, arms tightly crossed.

“Upset that you’re upset, of course,” he said. “But otherwise, perfectly happy. I’m glad to see Alya again.”

She rolled her eyes as she edged out of the bed, awkwardly pulling the sheet with her as she strained to reach her discarded shirt from last night while covering herself.

Adrien got out of bed unabashedly, ignoring her flush as she looked away from his naked form and the way she kept peeking back at him.

He took her face in his hands.

“What can I do?” he asked softly.

“Get dressed,” she suggested. He brushed a kiss against her lips before stooping to snatch his discarded clothes from the night before, laughing quietly.

“You might as well take my shirt, too, and I’ll fine something else to wear,” she sighed as he did up his pants, leaving his chest naked as it had been when he turned up in her room.

“Thanks,” he said, snagging it from the floor and pulling it over his head. It was large enough on her that it fit him easily. The grey shirt with faded red print looked slightly odd with his more formal slacks, but it would do.

Marinette began edging towards the steps down to the main part of her room where her wardrobe was, carefully wrapping the sheet around her and tugging it untucked from the bed as she went.

“What are you doing?” he laughed, leaning against the bannister as he watched her begin the perilous descent with her sheet trailing behind her like a train.

“Getting dressed,” she sniffed, chin up as she shambled towards her armoire.

He followed her, snagging her in his arms and halting her progress.

“Yes, but why are you dragging this with you?” he clarified, plucking at the fabric where it was pulled taut across her chest.

“I guess I’m trying to maintain a little dignity,” she shrugged, pinning him with an unimpressed look when he guffawed at that.

“I don’t think this is going to help with that,” he argued. “You’re not shy, are you? You know I’ve seen you naked already.”

“That’s different,” she complained. It was different having someone take your clothes off in the dark, in the heat of the moment, and boldly parading around in the light of day.

He laughed lightly, kissing gently down her throat.

“If you say so,” he murmured, but his voice was dripping with doubt.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t be bothered forming a retort as the gentle caresses across her neck and shoulder were taking up most of her brain power.

The hand she held behind her back, bunching the sheet to keep it to her, slackened slightly as she relaxed under his attentions. One of his hands brushed across her bare shoulder blades, then down to her hand, fingers gently unclenching hers. She let him pull the fabric out of her hand, dropping her arm to her side with a sigh.

His arm slid around her waist, warm skin against hers as he gave her a deep kiss, lips moving over hers as she responded willingly.

After a minute, he pulled back.

“I’d better wait downstairs. I’ll go talk to Alya,” he smiled, and it was that pure, heartfelt expression that looked like he was born to make.

“Okay,” she said weakly.

She watched him open the hatch, disappearing down the stairs and dropping it shut behind him dreamily, shaking herself once he was gone.

She snatched underwear, a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, struggling to do up her clasps in her haste as it dawned on her that Adrien, literally incapable of lying and totally oblivious, entirely vulnerable to Alya’s wily attacks, was alone with her.

Eventually, she got into her clothes, only falling over once as she struggled into her pants.

When she made it downstairs, Alya had sourced a cup of tea and Adrien was meditatively chewing a tartine featuring what looked like Nutella and plain crackers.

She was watching him with open amazement, and turned to direct a far more adversarial look at Marinette when she entered the room.

She snagged an apple from the fruit bowl and settled in to a seat.

“So, how are you feeling after last night?” she tried conversationally, but Alya was not having it.

“Nice try,” she scowled. “I am far more interested in what the hell is happening here! You lied to me, girl! How could you keep me, of all people, out of the loop?”

“Okay, calm down, I didn’t lie,” Marinette rushed. “I had no idea Adrien was coming back. He surprised me this morning, after I came home.”

She whirled to pin him with her glare. He blinked at her dolefully.

“So you really just left my girl hanging for months, then?” she asked sharply.

“Alya!” Marinette protested.

“What, Marinette? He did! And you know I owe you, Adrien, and I don’t want to beef with you,” she forged on, “but you have to admit that it’s kind of dog. Just disappearing with no proper explanation and then turning up unannounced to chew on my best friend’s neck.”

Marinette’s hands flew to her throat self-consciously. She hadn’t looked in the mirror yet, avoiding the disaster she knew her hair to be until she had time to tackle it. She pulled out her phone and opened the camera. Sure enough, she had more than one hickey visible on her throat, and probably one or two more concealed by her shirt.

She threw a baleful glare at Adrien’s unblemished skin. Obviously, biting him wouldn’t leave a shred of evidence. She didn’t blame him for causing the love bites, but was definitely annoyed he hadn’t offered to magically heal them, or at least given her a heads up.

It may have been a little childish, but she was irked enough that she didn’t step in with an excuse for him. Let him try to craft one with pieces of truth on his own.

“It’s certainly not the way I wanted to go about things,” he agreed. “I didn’t have a choice when it came to leaving, and I came back first the moment that I could. I know it hurt Marinette, but for whatever it’s worth, it hurt me too.”

That won her back over, and she placed a hand over his. He offered her a small smile which she returned in force.

“Hmm,” Alya eyed him. Marinette was impressed that she was managing to be so negative towards him for this long; everyone struggled to be unhappy with Adrien. “So you’re here to stay?”

“Yep,” he grinned. “I’m going to head over to my parents’ house and see if they want me to move in, or if I should look for somewhere else to live, but either way, I’m going to be sticking around.”

Alya gave him one final appraising look, and then burst into a smile, grabbing him into a hug.

“Alright, I’m convinced,” she declared. “I’m glad you’re back, we’ve all missed you. Nino will be psyched!”

She grabbed his face and squished his cheeks until he managed to pull out of her grasp.

“I’m psyched to be back,” he laughed as he dodged her reaching fingers.

“We should go out to celebrate!” she said, clapping her hands together.

“How can you even afford it? All these parties are eating into my budget, big-time,” Marinette complained.

“Whatever, Mari,” she rolled her eyes. “This is a special occasion, and should be commemorated appropriately. There’s a warehouse rave tonight that I have been looking for an excuse to go to. Don’t fight it.”

“Fine. I’ll make an appearance,” Marinette agreed, crossing her arms in a show of affected displeasure.

Adrien made no such attempts to hide his enthusiasm.

“I’m definitely in,” he said, earning an approving nod from Alya.

He immediately earnt a disapproving look bordering on disgust when he took another bite of his sandwich, to which he had added a few grapes.

He ignored her sour expression, looking at Marinette instead.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Nearly one,” she said, consulting her phone.

“Oh, I’d better get going, I need to get over to the Agreste house,” he said, stuffing the rest of his meal in his mouth.

Alya stiffened at that, eyes going wide, but she didn’t have time to deal with that. She jumped up from her chair to snag Adrien’s elbow before he could make it out the door.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” she spluttered.

He would look insane running through the neighbourhood in his mismatched clothes and bare feet.

“I still have some of your stuff upstairs if you want to change,” she said pointedly.

He looked down, humming in agreement, and followed her back to her room. He seemed to be struggling to clear his mouth of the sticky sandwich, simply humming again in thanks as he chewed when she pulled out the box of his clothes.

“When he said ‘the Agrestes,’” Alya said slowly when she came back down, “does he mean that he’s going to Gabriel Agreste’s house? Shortly after saying he was going to see his parents?”

Marinette pursed her lips uneasily. It wasn’t her secret to tell, but she realised it was likely to come out soon anyway – especially with Adrien’s loose lips.

“I’m not sure I can really say anything about that,” she grimaced.

“Girl! A-list celebrities have a secret son that only you know about and you’re not going to let your best friend in on the drama?” Alya cried incredulously.

“Alya, surely you can guess that there is a delicate situation here,” she shushed desperately, hoping Adrien hadn’t heard. “I didn’t know who he was until later, but I swear I will tell you about it later. I have to talk to him about it first, before I go spilling on his private life.”

“Oh, fine,” she gave in. “But I am not foregoing this information for long, I can tell you that.”

“Thanks, Alya,” Marinette sighed. “At least let it go for today. I don’t know how it’s going to go with his parents.”

At that point, Adrien jogged down the stairs again.

“Okay, I’m off,” he said, pausing to give Alya the casual goodbye kisses and a lingering one to Marinette. “I don’t have a phone at the moment so I’ll drop by here later to touch base. See you guys soon!”

And with that, he rushed out the apartment door.

“So, I can’t ask about where he’s been, yet,” Alya said. “But I can definitely ask about what happened last night. Give me the whole story.”

Marinette sighed. She would have to edit how Adrien had gotten into her room, but launched into the story of his dramatic return to her life in all its romantic glory, well aware that Alya would be content with nothing less.

And that was part of why she loved her.


	25. Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, gang, this is it! Thanks to everyone who read, left kudos or a comment, and biggest shoutout to the regular commenting crew. I've been absolutely basking in the validation everyone has showered me in, and it's earnt like 25,000 words more than y'all would have gotten otherwise. (Fun fact: an earlier version had Adrien beaming up to the mother ship after they got caught breaking into the mansion and way less interaction with Marinette's friends.)  
> It's been lit taking people on this slightly unusual fanfiction journey with me, I'll miss it.  
> I have another Miraculous story up, with similar writing and vibes, so check that out if you like. Either way, I bid you all the cheeriest adieu!

Winter was drawing to a close by mid-March, but the nights in Paris were still chilly. This particular night, as a full moon bathed the rooftops in silver light and the shadows glowed in the myriad colours of streetlights and neon signs, a brisk wind blew over the wet pavement, whipping through alleyways and chilling the skin of anyone still walking around in the middle of the night.

The view from the roofs of the apartment buildings that stretched four or five floors high was beautiful, but the dark figure that darted over the rooftops and flitted across the gaps between buildings didn’t pause to admire it.

Adrien’s focus was entirely on getting to his destination as soon as possible. He was about to hop across the alley behind the bakery, when he sensed a presence below. He didn’t want to risk being seen swooping overhead, so doubled back and dropped to street level around where he was hidden behind a fire escape and a row of bins.

Curling his dark wings close to him, he felt his whole body turn light as a feather for a moment as that part of him edged back over the divide between the two-dimensional and the physical. He had ripped a vertical line along the back of his plaid shirt, allowing him to keep it on as he soared through the cold night, but his thick jacket remained tied around his waist.

He strolled down the alley that ran behind Marinette’s building, peering into the shadows to see with this eyes what he already sensed was there.

The soul of the figure in the darkness had a dullness, as though the edges had been knocked off. If he could have actually seen it, he would have said it was a faded green, like a fallen leaf that wasn’t yet fully dried out.  It had the same sense of brittleness, too. This soul was tinged with a hopelessness, no strong destiny lingering at its edges.

If Adrien had the same clinical view of mortals as the angels of death, who had to be detached and businesslike, he would have said this stranger was unimportant. But not having a dictated goal didn’t mean a life was pointless – it meant it was unbound. It meant Adrien didn’t have to meddle in someone’s life, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t.

Chloé would have told him to stay out of it. But Chloé wasn’t there to tell him anything.

He spotted the face to go with the soul. It was as morose as he expected, lined and tired, and framed by wild hair. It was too dark to know what colour. The man was slumped against the wall, a flattened cardboard box beneath him his protection from the wet concrete beneath.

He looked at Adrien as he approached, but without much interest. Any number of people passed this man on any given day, and no one had made much of a difference yet.

“Hello,” Adrien said pleasantly.

The man raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained still.

“It’s cold tonight,” he continued. The man was huddled against the wind that whistled through the alley, and looked unimpressed by the flaccid observation.

Adrien was not discouraged.

“I’m pretty close to home, and this jacket doesn’t suit me,” he forged on. “You can have it if you want; yours looks pretty flimsy.”

The man was taken aback by that.

“Here,” Adrien said, untying the sleeves and holding it out for the man to take. It was warm, lined with fleece and waterproof, but he hated the cut. He had bought it on his way through Germany, needing something for the weather when it turned cold suddenly, and wouldn’t wear it again when he had a selection of clothes he infinitely preferred at home.

“I know there’s a place nearby that will rent you a last-minute room at half price – €20 a night,” he added, fishing the €90 he had in the pocket of his jeans out and offering it too. “Take this.”

“I know the place,” the man said. His voice was rough, with disuse or maybe thirst, but surprisingly soft. Adrien imagined he would sing beautifully. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, feeling a smile stretch across his face. He loved smiling, and when people smiled back, he could never keep from smiling even wider. The stranger offered a small lift in one corner of his mouth, and Adrien beamed at him.

The man shook his head in amusement, clearly finding something strange about Adrien, but he didn’t mind. A lot of people found him a bit odd, but people rarely disliked him for it. For his part, he didn’t see any point in pretending he wasn’t happy when he was, and he varied from content to ecstatic most of the time.

Getting to his feet and slinging a backpack that had been resting between his back and the stone wall behind him over his shoulder, the man turned to head for the hostel Adrien had referred to.

“Get home safe,” he said, looking almost like he surprised himself in saying so. Adrien sensed that he hadn’t exchanged pleasantries in a while.

“I will,” he replied. “Good luck.”

The man nodded, and walked away.

Adrien watched him go, shivering slightly in the cold. The wind that slipped into his shirt stole away any warmth he could muster, and now that he was standing still, he was starting to feel it.

Once the stranger was definitely gone, he turned to Marinette’s building. Only a few, small windows looked out onto this stretch of the alley, and no lights were on. No one would see him sneak into her room via the roof.

He couldn’t be bothered pulling his wings back into being for a few seconds just to get up to her terrace, hating the sensation of fading away that pervaded his body when he flirted with the edge of his physical existence like that.

Instead, he leapt onto a closed dumpster, springing off the top as quietly as possible. He scaled the wall, using the sparse detailing in the stone and the window sills to hold on. It wasn’t too hard to maintain his grip on the small handholds, even with most of his bodyweight pulling him away from the wall, but it was hard to reach between things he could grasp.

A little stretching and a few careful jumps, though, saw him climbing over the wrought iron railing of Marinette’s little terrace.

He slowly swung the trapdoor into her room open, expecting her to be asleep, and lowered himself silently into the room. He landed on her carpet like a cat, latching the door shut without a sound.

And there she was. Curled up under white bed covers with little cherry blossoms printed across them, she slept.

He stood still, looking at Marinette.

Well, he never just _looked_ at Marinette. He _breathed_ her. Whenever she was near, it was as if she filled up the empty space between them and overflowed until she filled him, too.

It wasn’t just the brightness of her soul, either; he hadn’t been so transfixed by her when she first appeared on the periphery of his world as he tripped a man on the street into the arms that would hold him for decades to come.

Her soul was bright, or loud, or large, or whatever tangible adjective one could apply to something no human had ever perceived. It had caught his attention, but it lacked the marker that he recognised, that little divot missing where a cupid needed to fit a little piece so that the soul could be united with that one special person.

She wasn’t silently calling out for help; she was simply singing out into the world because that was how she lived her life.

Feeling that vibrant manifestation of her past and her future was part of being with her and loving her, just like it was part of every interaction he had. He saw the face, heard the voice, and perceived the soul around it all.

But her laugh, her quirks, the way she fell over and the way she danced, the kindness in her eyes and in her actions, all the things he _couldn’t_ know just by meeting her… That was what he felt washing over and rushing into him when he got close to her.

Sometimes he wondered how it was that the whole world, or at least everyone who had met Marinette, wasn’t in love with her. He couldn’t imagine finding anything wrong with her, or anyone more enchanting. Intellectually, he knew that everyone loved differently and different things made up people’s idea of perfection, but he privately entertained the thought that he knew better than everyone else.

After all, who in the world could claim to know more about love than a cupid?

She rolled over, a weird snort interrupting her breathing, and shook him from his reverie. He supressed a laugh as he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his tight jeans.

As gently as he could, he eased into bed beside her, trying not to disturb her despite the way she sprawled across most of the bed. His elbow brushed against a fingertip, and she mumbled something incoherently, rolling towards him.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, getting comfortable. She didn’t wake, for which he was glad even though he also wished she would so that he could talk to her. He hadn’t seen her in more than a week, and the separation had been painful.

Feeling her small form pressed up against his chest, her little shoulders and delicate hands that seemed so fragile but held such strength, he let out a deeply contented sigh as sleep began to carry him away.

+++

As always, his mind drifted to the surface of consciousness before his senses. The first few moments of the day were when he felt the pull of Heaven the strongest, and when he felt the closest to what he supposed was his true form.

When he slept, he wasn’t really tethered to his body the way he usually was, and the way he imagined mortals were. To sleep was to wander, to drift, to know the unknowable. He felt the thrumming of the unadulterated energy from the other side, distant yet omnipresent, just out of reach.

Before his soul fully settled into his body’s borders, he only sensed the auras around him. He felt the person in the apartment below’s frustration, someone at the base of the building’s excitement, and the whirling of hunger, envy, desire, love, resignation and anxiety from the bakery, the familiar feeling of Tom and Sabine’s satisfaction and contentedness standing out from the unfamiliar souls milling about the shop. He knew scores of beings nearby, all feeling different things, the nuance of which was always lost on Adrien once he woke up.

By far stronger than any of these, though, was the flare of smouldering red tantalisingly close. If he could taste, he knew his mouth would be awash with an almost sickly sweet taste of strawberry, somehow cut with the spice of cinnamon. There was a warmth that embraced him without touching, a sweeping major chord that he couldn’t actually hear.

He knew Marinette beside him before he knew anything else.

In his dreamy state, he could feel the emotions that lived inside her heart that were usually hidden to his human perception. She was feeling affection, a deep and pulsing love, through which ran a ribbon of desire. He could also sense the echo of worry. About something at work? About his absence? He couldn’t know, but it was swept aside and troubled her no more.

As he truly woke, these details faded, and the sense of her soul dulled to its usual muted halo, just a shadow of the beacon of love and light that he glimpsed in these moments. The background awareness of everyone else nearby faded, too, until she was the only one he could feel.

Replacing that awareness was feeling of warmth – softness from the sheets and the pillow under his cheek, brightness from the buttery sunshine slanting in the windows, and the gentle touch of Marinette’s skin against his.

She was tracing a finger back and forth over the exposed skin of his shoulders, up over one shoulder blade, down across the valley of his spine, up over the other side, and back. The gentle touch was exquisite, and he enjoyed the sensation for a few moments before acknowledging that he was awake.

“Good morning,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her – at last. He never tired of looking at her. Her eyes smiled back at him, the sunlight reflecting in the little pieces of the sky contained within them. Her inky hair, cut shorter than it had been when they met fell only to her cheekbones in a chunky cut, her thick fringe just short of falling into her eyes, was unruly. He could tell she had fallen asleep with it wet, and hadn’t brushed it beforehand.

She was perfect.

“Good morning,” she smiled back, moving her hand to his cheek instead. The traced his cheekbone, his nose, then the line of his eyebrow. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he sighed, rolling over onto his back to look at her more clearly. She was propped up on an elbow, watching him with a thoughtful expression.

“Your mother missed you, too,” she said, a bemused smile dancing about her intelligent face. “She came here, you know. I think she was suspicious you were hiding out here.”

“Really?” he asked, blinking in surprise. He knew she, perhaps more so than his father, feared he would disappear, but he had told them where he was going, and that he was coming back. That she had come here, though, was a surprise.

“Then again, maybe she just wanted to talk to Maman,” she shrugged. “She didn’t seem too upset, and they talked for a while before she left.”

 _That_ made more sense. The more time he spent with Emilie Agreste, the more he noticed the playful, mischievous nature beneath her elegant demeanour. He had confided in her that he was considering asking Marinette to marry him, and should have known she would plot against him – or rather for him.

He was chagrined, though, hoping she hadn’t outed him to Sabine. He had only come back to Earth to stay a bit more than a year ago, and wanted to spend more time watching over his parents before he married her. Not to mention they were still young, and he wanted Marinette to feel like she was established in her career and life before he started complicating things. He was leaning towards asking sooner rather than later, though, and just opting for a long engagement.

The idea of making a whole demonstration of his devotion to her was very appealing, and he felt excitement bubble up at the thought of getting to be her fiancé.

He pushed it down and tried to seem thoughtful.

“Well, Father is still in Milan, on some level I’m sure she wanted to talk to Sabine because they’re friends,” he said. He wanted to say something a bit more resolute, but felt the bounds of truthfulness threaten to close his throat.

Marinette hummed, eying him speculatively.

“You know the truth,” she guessed.

“I suspect,” he corrected.

“What is it?” she asked, leaning closer with an expectant grin. “You suck at keeping secrets. Just tell me now.”

“I don’t want to,” he pouted.

She stared him down, and he looked away. He was terrible with secrecy, it was against his nature. He physically couldn’t lie, but he could deceive. That didn’t mean the pull to blurt out the truth wasn’t there the minute he pulled the wool over someone’s eyes.

“You’ll find out soon,” he said, hoping that would be good enough.

“Fine,” she relented, a pout of her own taking up residence on her full lips. It drew his eye, and she grinned when she noticed.

He wondered briefly if she was feeling as amorous as she had been when she woke him up, but that question was answered by the way the dragged her nails over his chest as she leant in to kiss him.

He responded instantly, reaching for her and pulling her closer as her intoxicating lips moved against his. Her little hands roamed over his body, but it wasn’t enough. She was never close enough.

He rolled on top of her, grinning at the small giggle that escaped her as he moved to kiss the side of her throat. She hated walking around with the bruises his mouth left on her sometimes, and though he didn’t really understand why, he was careful to check for marks and heal them whenever he left her room. He tried not to perform ‘miracles’ that weren’t absolutely necessary when he wasn’t on the job as a cupid, but it was the one exception he made.

As in everything, Marinette was his weak spot.

She wrapped her arms around him, hands in his hair and legs cradling his body. He pressed closer, satisfaction building in him as she shuddered in response. There was nothing better that pleasing her, out of everything he had seen and done since taking up permanent residence on Earth. Whether it was making her laugh at a joke, surprising her with a little gift, or caressing that spot on the side of her neck that always made her relax completely, it made him incandescently happy to see her happy.

He ran his hands over her, caressing her smooth skin and pressing into her. Before their rendezvous could progress too far, the sound of someone opening the door into her bedroom made him freeze.

Marinette reacted more violently, shoving him off and dumping him onto the floor where he would be hidden by the bed.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” came Sabine’s voice. “Your papa’s starting on those icing decorations you offered to help with.”

“Right,” Marinette said, her voice an octave higher than usual. “I’ll come down in two minutes.”

“No rush,” she laughed as she left the room.

A few seconds later, Marinette’s face appeared over the edge of the bed.

“Sorry,” she grimaced.

He sat up with a laugh.

“It’s fine,” he assured her, standing up to put his jeans on.

She eyed his shirt, which lay on a ball on the floor near his shoes, presumably because they constituted a mess. He gave her a cheeky look, even though she had been known to leave many a mess to be cleaned up later when she was in a rush or tired. The abandon with which a stressed or sleepy Marinette gave up on what she normally paid strict attention to never failed to charm him.

He admired the shape of her legs, exposed by her adorable matching set of pyjamas, pink with white piping along the cuffs of the shirt and shorts, as she got out of bed and neatened up the covers.

“I should go home for a bit, but I’ll see you later?” he asked as he finished dressing.

“Oh, Alya’s having a pizza and wine thing at her place tonight,” she said, eyes lighting up. “I told her you weren’t around but now that you’re available you’re invited.”

“Sounds good,” he smiled. “Meet you here?”

“Yep, around five would be good,” she agreed. “Try not to let my parents see you on the way out, we don’t need those questions raised. I’ll check if Maman’s still downstairs.”

“No need, I’ll just climb down from your roof,” he assured her.

She rushed to stop him. The wide-eyed expression that streaked across her gorgeous face was comical; it made him wish he had a camera handy.

“Don’t do that,” she balked. “Someone could see your wings if you –”

He cut her off with a laugh.

“I said climb, I don’t need wings,” he corrected.

“Oh.”

He bent to give her a kiss, lingering for a moment before pushing her gently toward her closet.

“I’ll see you at five,” he said, opening the trapdoor and pulling himself up onto the terrace.

She blew him a kiss with an adorable flourish and a laugh before he pulled closed the trapdoor, which he mimed catching and putting in his pocket.

He got to his feet, casting a perfunctory survey of the area to check for obvious observers before swinging a leg over the fence. He clung to the small handholds the masonry offered with as much strength as he dared, not wanting to damage the stone.

Dropping to the street level, he started the ten-minute brisk walk home, hustling almost to a jog in an effort to stave off the slight chill of the gusty wind that tugged at his shirt. He should have considered borrowing a jumper from Marinette, but it was a small price to pay for equipping the stranger for cold nights he may spend on the streets.

+++

“Adrien, darling?”

His mother’s voice stopped him as he reached for the door.

“Yes, Maman?” he called, leaning around the wide doorframe to see her where she curled up on the luxurious sofa in front of the TV. Glass of wine in hand and some gluggy white concoction smeared over her face, she looked ready for a fantastic night in with her friend Nadine (who he suspected was sourcing snacks from the kitchen).

“It’s going to be cold, tonight,” she said, eyeing him with concern. “Make sure you have a scarf or something.”

“I’ve got one,” he replied. “Bye!”

She waved as he headed out the door.

He jogged across the courtyard and started down the street. He glanced at his watch, not wanting to keep Marinette waiting, but there were only a few minutes to five. He had gotten caught up sorting through work emails he had neglected while he was out of the country and not left enough time to make it to her place.

He pulled out his phone to text her that he was on his way. Looking at the screen as he typed, he turned the corner and nearly bowled over another pedestrian.

“Woah!” he gasped in surprise, grabbing the girl by the arms to stop her from falling to the footpath.

She let out a huff when they collided, and then a squeak when she looked up at his face.

He froze, blinking at her gobsmacked expression. She stared back. She looked about fifteen, with a sweet face and an uncommon innocence to her aura. It felt like light blue and long grass all around her.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “You’re Adrien Agreste.”

He smiled – it was always nice to hear that, his name as it had first been given to him, as had remained a mystery for so long.

“Hello,” he smiled.

He was not at all disconcerted that she knew who he was – since his return to his parents, he had quickly become a public figure, plastered across the news and gossip sites, not to mention the modelling he had done for his father’s brand. He was interested in the empire Gabriel had built, and aspired to gain an understanding in all areas of the business. This interest doubled as a way to get closer to the man himself, of course, and was encouraged.

He had a particular interest in photography, he found, and through he wasn’t yet experienced enough to be behind the lens, he had a natural talent for posing in front of it.

Based on the screenshots he received on a regular basis from Alya, he had unwittingly become quite the heartthrob, countless articles lauding his good looks churned out on the daily.

“Hi,” the girl spluttered. “Half my class is in love with you.”

He laughed at that, taken aback at her candour.

“That’s very flattering,” he said, trying to temper the amusement on his face.

“I’m glad you’re not really dead,” she blurted out.

The public story was that he had been raised overseas to keep him out of the public eye until he was old enough to handle the scrutiny. The separation had been hard for him and his parents, blah, blah, blah. No one was willing to offer any further details to the press, least of all Adrien – for obvious reasons.

“Thank you,” he said blandly.

She nodded absently, seeming mostly preoccupied with staring up at him in wonder.

“I’m sorry to be rude, but I am supposed to be meeting someone in… two minutes ago, so unless you want a photo or something, I should probably get going,” he said apologetically.

That offer shook her from her motionless state.

“I’d love one, if you don’t mind,” she grinned giddily. 

He held his hand out for her phone, her short arms and small stature less than ideal for getting someone his height in-frame.

He put an arm around her shoulders and smiled at the camera, leaning in for a closer up shot to capture their faces better.

He handed back the phone to her grateful smile.

“It was nice meeting you…?”

“Marie,” she filled in, blushing up at him.

“Well, Marie, I hope you have a nice evening. Give my regards to your class,” he grinned.

“I will,” she promised, nodding exaggeratedly.

With a friendly wave, he set off again towards Marinette’s.

+++

The buzz of conversation set to an unobtrusive playlist fostered a warm tone in Alya’s comfortable apartment. Her family was staying in Bordeaux for a week, apart from Alya who had to work, giving them the run of the place. 

A glass of red in hand as he swung one leg back and forth, perched on a barstool with the other folded beneath him, he listened to the conversation that bounced around the kitchen area.

Alya was spreading tomato sauce on the base of a pizza and lecturing the assembled party about the art of selecting the optimum flavour profile. Marinette stood beside her, arranging ham on another pizza and making faces when her best friend looked away. Nino and Isabelle sat on the stools beside him, cutting up mushrooms and capsicum and several other toppings, while Alya’s friend from university, Paul, hunted through her cabinets for a bottle-opener.

“So, for example,” Alya said, “to put pineapple and capsicum on the same pizza, without something kind of richer to offset the acidity of the flavour, it’s just going to taste lacklustre and off-balance.”

Adrien nodded sagely at her offering of wisdom, managing not to snigger at the over-the-top haughty expression Marinette made, wobbling her head with pretentious affect.

“I know you’re doing that, by the way,” Alya sighed. “I just don’t think it’s even worth commenting on.”

They all laughed at that, Nino’s guffaws the loudest by far.

Adrien narrowed his eyes slightly, looking again at Nino’s soul. He had a low-key, easy-going smoothness about him, fierce in his beliefs of right-and-wrong, but not easy to anger or be overcome with stress. He didn’t have any big, eye-catching destiny that pulled at him, but there was a waver in his aura that had a very particular note to it. One that exactly mirrored the high-pitched, bouncy sound that Alya seemed to embody. Not urgent but not distant, he sensed they would only grow together with time, and it would be more than good for them. He wished Marinette would offer some insight in their relationship, but he didn’t want to meddle unless he had to, so he couldn’t bring it up. Maybe he could ask Nino casually enough that it wouldn’t raise too many questions…

“How do you not have a bottle opener?” Paul complained, drawing his attention away from Nino and Alya.

“I’ve seen people on YouTube hit the bottle-cap with a knife, and it comes off,” Nino suggested, miming the upward angle of the knife required.

“Hell no, you idiot,” Alya reprimanded. “Not in my house. Best case scenario is you stab someone. If we shoot a piece of metal through the air and it breaks a light fitting, my maman will kill me, and I’ll kill you.”

“All I want is a beer,” Paul groaned before Nino could voice his affront. “Why is that an unreasonable request?”

“Give it here,” Adrien said, holding his hand out.

“Adrien, I swear to God I’ll fight you if you do something crazy,” Alya warned, but he only smiled.

He took Paul’s bottle, pinching the metal cap between two fingers. It bit into his skin painfully, but it only took a second to bend the metal off the glass, and then it was over.

His friends cheered when he held the open bottle out for Paul to take.

“Dude, how did you do that?” Nino grinned, reaching for a fist-bump.

“You just have to know how to apply the right pressure,” he shrugged modestly.

“Can I video that?” Isabelle asked, already reaching for her phone.

Adrien shrugged, accepting the second bottle Paul offered. Plenty of people had a party trick to open beer bottles, so there should be no issue exhibiting a little extra strength.

He tipped it upside down gently to demonstrate that the lid was properly attached, then set it right-side-up and easily pinched off the lid to another round of applause. He laughed and set the bottle down bashfully, until Isabelle started a chant of “skull, skull, skull,” with which he gracefully complied when Marinette offered an encouraging look.

“Your fans are going to go nuts for this,” Isabelle laughed as she set about uploading it to whatever social media platform, and he only shook his head.

“I love this song!” Marinette gasped suddenly. “Turn it up!”

Nino cranked up the volume on the speakers paired to his phone, and she threw her hands in the air. She held them stiffly as she danced, fingers covered in the slimy moisture from the ham, but moved with rolling grace that belied her frequent clumsiness.

“Alya, dance with me!” she ordered.

Alya began a system of wild and erratic movement that left her shoulders steady so that she could still progress the pizza construction. Adrien shot a brief video for his personal Snapchat story, to which only people he personally knew had access.

“Adrien,” Marinette sang, beckoning with her sticky fingers.

He opened his mouth to decline the invitation, but Isabelle reached around Nino to grab his shoulders, tugging them into a shimmy.

“Don’t resist the call of the rhythm!” she cried before shoving him off the seat.

He threw her a look a faux anger, waving a finger at her in reprimand as a wide smile stretched across his face.

He joined Marinette, mirroring her eclectic moves as she hopped around to the beat, Isabelle clapping along and laughing with Nino.

Adrien threw back his head and laughed, carefree, and Marinette jumped forward to kiss him on the cheek, careful to keep her hands clear of his hair as she threw her arms around his neck.

Surrounded by his friends, their laughter and their screams and their messy pizzas that fell far short of the flavour-balanced nirvana Alya had hoped for, he couldn’t help but feel like he had everything he wanted. Marinette smiled up at him, beautiful and sweet and slightly insane, and he lifted her off the ground in a tight hug.

Tomorrow, he might be late meeting his mother for a piano lesson because someone stopped him in the street for a photo, Sabine might tease him for an article titled ‘Adrien Agreste did THIS with his bare hands and we are even more in LOVE,’ or Marinette might hit him in the face with a door at speed.

But none of it mattered in that moment, nor would it really bother him then, because it was all part of the chaos that made up his life. And that was more than he ever imagined he could have.


End file.
